


Reconcilable Differences

by owlmoose



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M, If you only read one work by me, Intrigue, Multiple Pairings, Multiple Partners, Original Characters - Freeform, Politics, Post-Canon, Romance, oh shit it's a long final fantasy fic get in the car!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-19
Updated: 2010-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 55,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Ashe is preparing to become queen, but there are many treacherous political waters to navigate first: proving her fitness to sit the throne, balancing Dalmascan independence with Empires on either side, settling the question of who will rule Nabradia. Into this situation steps a new ally: Al-Cid Margrace. Al-Cid is dealing with a political morass of his own; although many within Rozarria are relieved to have stayed out of active hostilities, others had hoped to weaken Archadia and expand into new territory for the first time in fifty years -- and chief among the latter faction is the crown prince. Together and separately, Ashe and Al-Cid set out to discover new truths and forge new alliances on their path to a peaceful Ivalice.</p><p>And then Balthier reappears, to throw all of Ashe's plans and emotions into disarray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mega Flare, the Final Fantasy Big Bang. Thanks to Justira for many hours of consultation and plotting help, and to Renay for providing beta help, a title, and the support necessary to make this challenge happen in the first place!

The throne room was dark and quiet, the last of the august personages finally gone, and Ashe took advantage of her solitude to let out the breath that she'd been holding for three straight days. The battle of the Bahamut, their escape on the Strahl, flying into Rabanastre where her people assaulted her with their joy and relief, followed by dozens of appearances beside Archadia in the personage of Larsa to convince every nation that the war had truly ended and that peace negotiations really would commence: all of these factors had combined with too much rich food and too little sleep to leave Ashe exhausted to the bone. She sank down on the steps, rested her back against the heavy stone of her throne, and sighed. All she had lost, and all she had gained, whirled together in her head as she closed her eyes and counted the faces that swirled in the darkness: her father, her brothers, Rasler, Vossler. Reddas and Basch. And--

"Your Majesty?"

The soft words, accompanied by clank of armor that was already becoming the voice's familiar accompaniment, interrupted Ashe's reverie. She opened her eyes but did not sit up, heedless of her undignified position. There were five people in the world she trusted to see her in this state; this man was first among them. She looked up from the floor and into the eyes of Basch. He had cut his hair, and the effect was jarring. But for the scar across his forehead, she could have been looking at the face of a dead man.

"You're leaving, then?"

Basch nodded; further explanation was unnecessary. They had already agreed, in consultation with Larsa, that it would be safest, for now, to pretend that the man who had announced the ceasefire was Gabranth in truth, and that Basch must remain dead, rumors aside. Ashe had an entire nation ready to stand with her, but Larsa faced an unstable political situation at home. He would need all the support he could muster, and Basch was willing to serve. Besides, there was no one else for the job. "The Senate has been called to reconvene tomorrow morning, and Larsa will need time to prepare. Zargabaath is waiting in the Aerodrome with the Alexander."

"Very well." Ashe held out her hand, and Basch took it, helping her rise. She inhaled sharply through her nose and the growing weight on her chest. "Thank you, Basch. I owe you my kingdom, and my life. If only I had a fair way to repay you." _Something more fitting than consigning you to the den of our enemies, alone, with no exit in sight._

"I could have done no less," he replied. He bowed over her hand, tightening his black-gloved fingers on hers.

"I will miss you," Ashe said softly. "You, and your counsel."

Basch's eyes softened. "I will send word as I can. Once matters are settled in Archades, I am sure that Larsa and I will return for the many negotiations to come. In the meantime, trust the Marquis -- he has your best interests at heart, even though his methods are not always yours. He is waiting for you, in the king's office."

Ashe snorted. "Ondore is my uncle, and my father's friend, and there is truth to what you say, but I've little doubt whether he values Dalmasca's freedom more than his own." She shook her head with a sigh. "But you are right; he is the closest thing Dalmasca has to a steadfast ally, and I must treat with him as such."

"Good luck." Basch dropped Ashe's hand, then retrieved his helm from where it had been tucked under his other arm.

"And to you. My best to Larsa."

Basch settled his helm into place before bowing yet again and turned to go, dark cloak billowing as he strode away. Ashe watched for as long as she could bear; before the door had closed behind him, she turned away and made for the side exit.

As Basch had indicated, Ondore awaited her, seated on the sofa across from her father's heavy oaken desk. He had a glass in his hand, and he swirled a finger of amber liquid without really looking at it, ice clinking. Ashe walked to the wingtip chair where her father had sat so many times before and, after a moment's hesitation, lowered herself into it.

How to approach him: with the formality befitting a queen, or the affection she had once felt for him? It took her a long moment to decide. "Uncle?"

Ondore started, then smiled, setting down the glass as he stood to greet her. "Ashe." She rose and suffered herself to be kissed on the cheek. "My apologies, if coming here without requesting an audience was poor form. But we have had no opportunity to truly speak since your return home, and I wished some time alone with you."

"And I with you." Ashe sank back down in her chair. "Tell me of the Resistance. What is their current status?"

Ondore sat as well, leaning forward, hands resting on his knees. "Ordered to stand down, in the main. The sons of Dalmasca that came to join us have returned or are on their way. However, I have taken the liberty of ordering the Garland to patrol Dalmasca's skies while you restore your own airship fleet. If I have overstepped my bounds, I can recall her to Bhujerba."

Ashe shook her head. "No, your help is welcome, as it always has been." She paused; how much to say? "It is not unknown to me that you have been in a delicate position, vis-à-vis the Empire, these past two years. I do question your willingness to involve Rozarria, however."

"It was not a decision made lightly." Ondore picked up his glass and took a sip of his brandy. "But without the nethicite, I felt our options were limited. As you must know, if you spoke with Reddas."

"Yes." Ashe twisted her hands in her lap, then forced herself to move them to the arms of the chair. "Given Vayne's aggression, I understand if you felt the need to make a show of force yourself. But having Rozarria involved complicates matters -- thanks to your invitation, they will now expect to be a part of our negotiations with Archadia, and Dalmasca is once again forced into the middle of their struggles."

"A fair analysis." Ondore finished his drink, then set the glass back on the table, where it landed with an audible clink. "Though 'twould be a great deal for them to ask, given that they did not present for the actual battle."

"I wondered at that, myself." Yet again, Ashe found herself wondering how much to reveal. _Trust the Marquis_ , Basch had said; another, conflicting, voice whispered in her ear, warning her to trust no one but herself. But the owners of both voices had left her, one called away by divided loyalties, and the other...

No. She could not, must not, think about him just yet. He lived. Contemplating any other alternative would sap energy that she did not have to spare.

Ashe took a deep breath. Her own counsel was the best she could keep right now, and she would do so. "Uncle. The alliance between our nations may as well be dissolved if we do not trust one another. Do you agree?"

Ondore nodded, his face serious. "Indeed."

"And so I must know: are you free to treat with me as leader of a sovereign nation? Does Archadia still have its hooks in Bhujerba and the mines? Or perhaps promises made to Rozarria limit your actions?"

"I swear to you." Ondore lifted a hand to cover his heart. "I have pledged nothing to either Empire that I have not already delivered. I am once again a seller of magicite on the open market, nothing more. On your father's soul and my own honor, I swear to keep whatever you tell me in strictest confidence, as long as Bhujerba's safety and neutrality is not thereby jeopardized."

"Thank you." Ashe reached out a hand, and Ondore took it. "Very well. In return, I share one card that I held hidden from you: I have, of late, become acquainted with a certain Rozarrian noble, a younger son of the ruling house. We met in Bur-Omasace, and again in Balfonheim, and we agreed that Rozarria must not become involved in the war. As I boarded the Strahl for the Bahamut, he went the other direction, charged with keeping his people from entering battle. Given their lack of an appearance, I can only assume that he succeeded."

Ondore raised an eyebrow. "And has this man a name?"

Ashe nodded. "Al-Cid Margrace."

"Ahh." Ondore let go of Ashe's hand and leaned back in his seat. "The young spymaster. He may have the most impressive network of informants in all Ivalice. A useful ally, though perhaps not the most respectable one."

Ashe smiled. "Perhaps not. But he was a friend to me when I needed one, and I have hopes that he will remain so."

"A relationship to cultivate." Ondore nodded in agreement, then stood. "Well, my dear. Shall we have a drink to our renewed alliance? And perhaps we will send for the Rozarrians soon, to determine where they stand."

"Agreed." Ashe took the glass that Ondore handed her and touched it to his refilled one with a clink. "To alliances, past and future."

-x-

The Eden was a fine ship, Al-Cid reflected as he walked down the corridor. Only the best for Tiesto Margrace, crown prince of Rozarria. It was, he thought, somewhat surprising that the War Pavilion was willing to risk the heir in such a petty war, and he wondered if Tiesto had fallen from favor again. Or perhaps the generals had weighed the risk of Ondore's failure as too great to keep Tiesto sidelined? Al-Cid realized that he had little sense of how temperatures were running in the Rozarrian court. "I have been away from Rosalis overlong," he muttered to himself. The distant flock was well tended, but he was past due to check in with the birds at home.

Two more turns, and he was at the door to his eldest brother's stateroom. Once there, he paused; given his own role in the events of the past few days, would Tiesto be happy to see him? Al-Cid had long wondered whether Tiesto was impatient with fifty years of a static border to the north. He glanced back over his shoulder at Martina, his ever-present companion. "Do you suppose--"

"We've been over this." Martina shook her head. "At least half a dozen times now. Staying out of the battle was best for everyone. The War Pavilion agrees, the Board of Governors agrees, and perhaps most importantly, your Lord Father agrees. Tiesto may agree or he may not, but he will not treat you ill."

Al-Cid sighed. "You are right, of course. My thanks for the reminder." He pulled his glasses off his nose, then handed them to Martina, who slid them her shirt pocket. "Let us get this over with." He punched the code that would unlock the door, stepping through as soon as it opened.

"Yes, yes, I understand." Tiesto, who sat at a desk on the far side of the room, waved impatiently, as though the person on the other side of the call might see the gesture and provide more proper deference. "But the emperor has not yet recalled the fleet. Given the instability of the situation, I find it more prudent to stay in place without such an order. Unless and until you hear otherwise, you hold position! Goodbye!" He slammed his transmitter down on the desk and scowled at it. "Idiots." Then he looked up, swiveling his chair toward the door. "Ah, Al-Cid. Welcome aboard." He stood and crossed the room, hand out.

Al-Cid took the proffered hand and shook it, noting as always how it dwarfed his own. Tiesto was half a foot taller than Al-Cid and outweighed him by several stone; though Al-Cid did not consider himself a small man, in Tiesto's presence, it was hard not to think in such terms. "Thank you, Tiesto. You look well."

Tiesto dropped Al-Cid's hand with a snort. "I'd do better if I weren't surrounded by weak-hearted morons. Look at them." He waved his hand at the large window behind his console at the dozen small ships hovering in the near distance. "All lined up and ready to run for the safety of home, just because a temporary truce has been signed. What if some of the rebels missed the order to stand down? Or some Archadian dog decides to get revenge for his precious Vayne's death? Assuming that madman is truly dead -- reports of what happened are too confused for me to trust any of them."

"As to the truth of Vayne's death, I cannot say." Al-Cid followed Tiesto toward the desk and took the chair across from the window. "But if he is, indeed, dead, then Larsa rules Archadia, and peace is within our grasp."

"Hmmph!" Tiesto lowered himself into his seat. "You really believe that a child can take control over the military and re-assemble his Senate in such short order?"

"If any child can do it -- if any man could do it -- young Lord Larsa is the one." Al-Cid leaned forward in the chair. "Have you met Larsa?" Tiesto shook his head. "He is extraordinary. I have met few people of any age with his diplomatic instincts. If his temperament and Vayne's military acumen had been combined in one man, we would not be having this conversation; Archadia would be ruling over us all. Never underestimate him."

"I suppose I shall have ample opportunity to know him better." Tiesto shifted in his seat; desk chairs always seemed too small for his wide frame. He was always happiest in the field, and once again Al-Cid wondered how he would feel about being ensconced in Ambervale and Rosalis, rarely leaving except for the occasional affair of state. "So." The chair swiveled again, and Tiesto turned to stare straight at Al-Cid. "I understand we have you to thank for missing the action over Rabanastre. I made a promise to Ondore, you know; I can only hope that he does not see our decision not to act as cowardly, or reneging on our agreement."

And here came the difficult part. Al-Cid spread his hands in a gesture of acknowledgement and apology. "I cannot speak for Ondore, but I can speak for the woman on whose behalf he acted: Princess Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca. I halted the advance of the Rozarrian fleet at her express request."

Tiesto raised his eyebrows. "You are acquainted with the princess?"

"I am." Al-Cid sat up and looked Tiesto straight in the eye. "Her mettle has been tested, and found true. She does not thirst for revenge on Archadia; all she desired was a return of Dalmascan sovereignty, and she has gained it. I trust her to square matters with Ondore."

"Hmm." Tiesto leaned back in the chair, eyebrows knitted in thought. "Do you think she would welcome a closer alliance with Rozarria?"

Al-Cid shrugged. "Who can say? And who can say how far Archadia is willing to go in its concessions? A mutual defense treaty might be too much, or it might be acceptable. All depends on Larsa, and his advisors." Privately, he wondered how much control Gabranth might attempt to exert over the situation. He trusted Larsa; he was not certain that he trusted Gabranth. But perhaps he would be tempered by the re-emergence of his brother? If Basch had even survived the battle. But about those matters, it was too soon to even speculate, much less to voice his concerns to Tiesto.

"I'll have to discuss it with Father. And the Board," Tiesto added, almost as an afterthought. "I thank you for your assistance. You may go."

"Thank you, brother." Al-Cid rose from his seat, took his glasses from Martina, and made his way out of the room. Once the door had closed behind him, he slung his arm around Martina's shoulders and kissed her temple. "That went well enough, I suppose."

"Well enough," Martina agreed. "Does this conclude our business here?"

Al-Cid nodded. "We make for home. Ambervale, at last." He squeezed Martina against his side, then let her go, his steps down the corridor and toward the launching bay more brisk this time. It would be good to see the sacred valley again.

-x-

"My lord? We will be arriving in a few minutes."

Al-Cid stirred himself from the chair into which he had flung himself after boarding his personal ship, the Fenrir, drink in hand, and looked up at his valet. Javier had been with him for many years and was, after Martina, the most trusted and valuable member of his personal staff. "Already?" The flight from the border to Ambervale was a good five hours; by his reckoning, only three had elapsed.

"Yes sir." Javier nodded. "We just received an urgent message from His Majesty the Emperor, diverting us to Rosalis. He would speak with you, in person, before you return to the palace."

"He would?" Al-Cid raised his eyebrows. "Did His Majesty give a reason?" It was a rare thing for Roderigio Margrace to take any interest in his younger sons. In Al-Cid's experience, a summons to his presence was not a good sign.

Javier shrugged. "The emperor does not explain his thinking to mere servants, sir."

Al-Cid sighed. "I suppose not." He lifted his legs off the arm of the chair and flipped them to the front of the seat, then stood up, stretching. "Ah well, I'm long overdue to visit my contacts in the capital. Best to take advantage of the situation. Once we land, arrange the usual meetings, starting with one this evening."

"Very well, my lord." Javier consulted the small bound book that he carried in his hand. "Whom would you like first?"

"Anissa, I think." Al-Cid smiled as the memory of the rotund young woman passed through his mind: her long brown caught in a braid, her full breasts pressing into his hands. "If she's not too caught up in preparing the state banquet I expect His Majesty has ordered for tonight. In that case, call for Alessandra, or Corzon. If Anissa is free, then book Alessandra and Corzon for tomorrow. Together, if you can manage it." Al-Cid was a firm believer in the concept of mixing business with pleasure, and trysts with his birds were most definitely both.

Javier nodded, then snapped the book shut. "Understood. If there's nothing else, I'll advise the staff to prepare for landing."

On Al-Cid's nod of confirmation, Javier was gone; confident that his man would have all in readiness, Al-Cid turned to his wardrobe and pulled it open, considering what outfit would best suit a meeting with the emperor.

Half an hour later, he emerged from his ship: pressed, washed, fed, and ready to do battle with his father. Not physical battle, of course; Roderigio Margrace had other people to do that for him. No, the battle to come would be a duel of words. Al-Cid had always sparred with his father in the struggle to prove himself relevant to Rozarria, worthy of his title, and a candidate for Roderigio's respect, if not for his throne. Al-Cid did not, in his heart of hearts, long to rule Rozarria, or any other nation for that matter. But he could not deny that it would be nice to have been considered.

Not that he would be. For all that Tiesto fell in and out of favor, the Board of Governors had accepted Roderigio's eldest as crown prince over twenty years ago. The matter was long settled, and Al-Cid was relieved to be spared the drama of a succession battle.

Stepping on the tile floor of the Aerodrome, Al-Cid took a deep breath of the warm afternoon air. Next to him, Martina took his arm. "Glad to be home?" she asked.

Al-Cid shrugged. "Ask me again when we're back in Ambervale," he responded. "By then, I will have this audience over with."

Martina chuckled and squeezed his elbow. "The sooner we get there, the sooner it's done."

"I thank you for the reminder." Al-Cid covered Martina's fingers with his own, then led her down the hallway and to the ceremonial guard that waited for him in the Aerodrome lobby. Their leader, a man Al-Cid knew by sight but not by name, made a quick bow.

"Welcome home, my prince," he said in a deep, scratchy voice. "I have been ordered to escort you to His Majesty's chambers."

Al-Cid gestured toward the door. "Lead the way."

The guard bowed again, then started off, his men gathering in front and falling in behind the group.

Through the breezeways and courtyards they walked, Al-Cid a step behind his escort. The royal residence at Rosalis was not as splendid as the palaces of Ambervale, but Al-Cid had to admit that they still carried a stately beauty. The buildings were covered with a pastel stucco, laid lovingly by hand; the terra cotta tile roofs over long arcades, floors set with bright geometric patterns.

Finally they reached the entrance to the emperor's receiving chambers, an unassuming door across the broad hallway from the huge golden doors that marked the portal to the throne room. The lead guard turned to Al-Cid with another sharp bow.

"Sire," he said, then gathered up his troops and left. Al-Cid dropped his hand on the doorknob; he paused before turning back to look at Martina.

"I'll wait in the Royal Courtyard," she said.

Al-Cid dropped his eyes a hair. "Martina--"

She shook her head and smiled, squeezing his elbow before she slid her fingers free. "It's all right. We both know he disapproves of our arrangement."

He exhaled sharply. "For Roderigio Margrace, of all people, to disapprove of a man keeping mistresses--"

"That is not the issue, and you know it." Martina pulled the sunglasses from his face, then brushed the hair from his eyes. "Better to keep the subject from ever coming up."

He sighed, then nodded. "You are right, my dear, as ever. But no need to wait in the courtyard like a common petitioner. Make haste to the apartments and help Javier prepare for our stay."

Martina curtseyed, then left. Al-Cid watched her go for as long as propriety would allow before opening the door and stepping through into the foyer.

He had been in this audience chamber before; Roderigio preferred it for any meeting held in relative private, as opposed to either disciplinary actions or large-scale state business. Al-Cid decided to see the choice of venue as a positive sign. The foyer was simply furnished with naught but two white sofas and a straight-backed chair. After hesitating a moment, Al-Cid selected the smaller sofa and sat down to wait. Perhaps ten minutes passed before the door on the other side of the antechamber opened to reveal a well-appointed servant.

"My prince," he said, bowing. "Welcome home. His Majesty will see you now."

"Thank you." Al-Cid rose and walked across the room, passing through the second door as the servant held it open. On the other side was a large study, books and scrolls on the walls, a heavy desk, and Emperor Roderigio Margrace, supreme ruler of the Rozarrian Empire.

His father had been seated behind his desk, but he rose as Al-Cid entered the room. He was a large man, taller than even Tiesto and almost as broad, although he was tending to fat rather than muscle in his later years. His softening chin was covered by a coarse beard of black shot through with white; his hair had turned long ago, but it was still full and wavy, much like Al-Cid's own. Roderigio's sharp blue eyes peered over his large nose. He held out his hand in greeting, and Al-Cid took it with a firm grip.

"So, you have come." He scowled. "Left the strumpet behind, did you? Finally tire of her?"

Al-Cid dropped his father's hand as though it had caught fire. _And so it begins._ "Martina remains very much in my service, sir. And in yours as well, if you would but see that."

"I am not the one she is servicing, but never mind." Al-Cid seethed at the insult -- it was not even true, any more, at least not very often -- but chose to let it go. Roderigio sat back down without offering Al-Cid a chair. "Thank you for responding so promptly to my summons."

"Considering that you sent it when we were but miles from the city, I wasn't left much choice." Al-Cid crossed his arms. "I had been hoping for a respite in Ambervale."

"A respite?" Roderigio raised a bushy gray eyebrow. "From what, wenching your way across Ivalice?"

Al-Cid drew himself up to his full height, spine stiffening. "I will have you know, sir, that the information I collected on that trip was vital to--"

Roderigio waved off Al-Cid's words with an impatient twitch. "Yes, yes, I am aware. I do appreciate everything you did to stave off our involvement in this wretched war. Had you not interfered, we would likely have been drawn into open battle with Archadia, an outcome we could ill afford right now. I might not always approve of your methods, but you do come back with valuable information. And for that, you have my thanks."

Al-Cid bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement of perhaps the only true compliment his father had ever bestowed upon him. "Thank you."

Roderigio nodded. "But one inconvenient fact remains: we have exchanged hostilities with the Archadians over Nabradia, and Nabradia is now part of Dalmasca, and so we must be invited to any negotiations that follow."

"Is that why you authorized Tiesto's alliance with Ondore?" Al-Cid raised an eyebrow. "To obtain seats at the treaty table?"

"There are worse reasons." Roderigio glared straight at Al-Cid as though daring him to disagree, and under the force of his eyes, Al-Cid took a step backwards. "Regardless, now we have them, and I need you to fill one."

"Me?" Al-Cid tried to disguise his shock, but from the blood he could feel draining from his face, he had a feeling he had failed.

"You." Roderigio nodded. "Of the men I can spare, you are one of the better diplomats, and you have a unique quality: your relationship with the Lady Ashe. You know her, and she knows you, and most importantly she has reason to trust you. You have already treated with her twice, and came off favorably by all reports. She seems to regard you as an ally. Your presence in the negotiations will help her look more favorably on Rozarria. You will go, and you will leave tomorrow."

Al-Cid frowned. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Roderigio repeated. "Azlan is head of the delegation, and he has been in readiness for some time. All he awaited was your presence."

"Well then." Al-Cid crossed his right foot over his left and made a brief bow. "One would not care to keep his royal brother waiting."

Roderigio smirked. "I know you bear little love for Azlan. But you cannot deny that he is well suited for the job, and to send any less a personage than my second son would suggest that I do not take the proceedings seriously."

Al-Cid raised an eyebrow. "You could send Tiesto."

"Hah!" The smirk mellowed into a look of genuine amusement. "I see you have lost none of your taste for sarcasm." Roderigio leaned forward in his seat. "So. You will go, and you will help negotiate a favorable treaty, and you will return with information I can use. Your... network. Does it yet extend into Rabanastre?"

"It does," Al-Cid confirmed with a nod, thinking of Lin, the petite blonde bartender at the Sandsea. "Although I have fewer placed there than I would like."

"Ah." Roderigio stroked his beard. "Then this trip presents you with an opportunity as well, yes? And if you were to acquire friends in high places, well. This would be looked upon favorably as well."

Al-Cid bit back a smirk of his own. Had his father just insinuated that he ought to attempt to seduce the Lady Ashe? It was not, of course, as though he had not thought of approaching her. But the indication that a dalliance with the queen-in-waiting would be seen as a welcome development from the throne was a fascinating one. He considered his father, who had taken so many lovers himself, and wondered if they were so different after all.

But he said nothing, instead bowing again, more politely this time. "Sir, I hear and obey."

"Good." Roderigio snapped his fingers, and a servant appeared through the side door. "Inform Prince Azlan that Prince Al-Cid will be in the Aerodrome and ready to depart at dawn. Al-Cid, you may go."

"My lord." Making one last leg, Al-Cid turned and left the room, already tallying up the hours to see how many appointments he could arrange before it was time to leave.

-x-

Several thousand miles away, Ashe was embroiled in her own plans, anticipating them with even less pleasure. It was to be her first grand state dinner, her reintroduction to society; it was, she knew, well past time for them see her at the head of her father's table, but in truth she would have preferred a meal of crushed glass to the rich food preferred by the Dalmascan royal court. Not to mention these complicated dresses.

"You've gained weight here." Lucie, her head chambermaid pulled harder on the laces of Ashe's corset. Ashe could not mistake the chiding in her oldest servant's tone. "And lost it in other places. We'll have to alter everything."

Ashe sighed. "I apologize that the loss of my girlish figure has proved inconvenient to you. Perhaps I should go back to attire better for battle, or crawling through the Waterway."

Lucie clucked her tongue. "Now, mistress. I'll not hear such talk. You're as lovely as ever, but your musculature has changed; of course the clothes fit differently. I'll set the seamstresses to it right away. Or perhaps we'll make all new. But you'll be a queen soon. I shan't see my charge in ill-fitting finery."

Tilting her chin down, Ashe took as deep a breath as the stays would allow, emptying her mind as she contemplated the dark gray stone tiles of the floor. Then she lifted her head again. "I apologize. I've been out of society too long."

"That you have." Lucie tied off the laces, then patted Ashe on the shoulder. "But we'll make a proper lady of you again."

"You did it once before." Ashe turned to face Lucie, putting up her arms and letting the blue skirts fall over her head and shoulders. "With, as I recall, a more recalcitrant subject."

Lucie chuckled as she settled the folds of fabric into place. "You speak of a young girl who would rather play at swords and ride chocobos with her older brothers than sit quietly in court? I remember her well. Picking the burrs and feathers out of her hair, mending the tears in her dresses. She made a fine hero, but she will make an even finer queen." She stood, looked Ashe over, and nodded, her smile warm but also wistful. "As presentable as I can make it, given what I have to work with. We'll meet with the seamstress and the tailor tomorrow."

Ashe wished she dared take Lucie into an embrace, cling to her like the mother she could only barely remember. She contented herself with a return smile and a dip of her head. "Thank you."

"Thank you, my lady." Lucie dipped into a quick curtsey; when she looked up, her eyes flashed with remembrance. "Oh, jewelry! I think there are silver earbobs that will go well with that dress on the vanity. And your rings... whyever have you only one?"

Ashe clenched her right hand into a fist and hid it behind her back. "Lost on my journeys," she said.

"Oh my dear." Lucie's face fell with sympathy. "Lord Rasler's ring, gone? You must have been devastated."

 _Annoyed, more like, and now..._ Ashe banished the thought; she could hardly tell Lucie the whole story. Instead, she merely shrugged. "There is nothing to be done for it." She twisted her own ring around on her finger. "At least I still have the ring he gave me."

Lucie smiled, sadder now. "That you do. Well, let me get you the earrings, and then you'll be ready to make your second debut. Follow me, my lady."

Ashe submitted to having the earrings placed in her ears, and a silver chain looped about her neck; thus armored, she exited her suite, leaving Lucie and safety behind. She walked down the long hallways, nodding to the guards as she went. Ondore waited at the entrance to the throne room, dressed in an old-fashioned suit in the classic Bhujerban style. As she approached, he held out his hand; she took it, and he graced her with a courtly kiss. "You look splendid."

She curtsied. "Thank you, Uncle. Shall we?"

Ondore opened the door for her, and she walked through first, into a room lit with blazing torches, throngs of people standing along the walls, all turning to face her as she entered and an abrupt silence fell. She dipped her head to them as they all bowed or curtsied. A smattering of claps followed, eventually building into a wave of applause, and Ashe deepened her bow accordingly. It was a good entrance, she decided as she rose: decisive, but not overly pompous. She would need to win these people over, after all: those who had supported the resistance, those who had supported Vayne, and those who had played to the middle. But she would shore up her allies first, and to that end, she scanned the room for a face she dreaded seeing, a meeting she wished to get out of the way: Duke Shison Azelas. She found him almost immediately, an older man with iron gray hair and sad eyes. He had the same strong chin as his son, she noted, though his shoulders were narrower, and stooped. She tried to remember if he had always looked so frail, and her heart sank as she realized that this change had been wrought by the past two years. She crossed the room to him, and at her approach, he turned.

"My Lord Duke." Ashe brought her hands to her breast and bowed to him, and the old man returned the gesture. "It is well to see you."

"And you." Duke Azelas looked away, then back. "Your Majesty. Is it true? Vossler--"

Ashe bowed her head. "Yes, Your Grace. I fear that it is. But if it is any comfort, your son gave his life for the cause of Dalmasca. He sacrificed himself that I might escape the Shiva when it was destroyed by the nethicite." It was, she told herself, not quite a lie, but meeting his eyes came easier as she continued into a simpler truth. "I owe Vossler my life, many times over, but I also owe him my kingdom. It is no overstatement when I say that without Vossler, the resistance would have been stillborn. Without his efforts or his leadership, we would not be free." She held out her hand and took the duke's fingers in her own. "Vossler York Azelas will be honored as a hero for generations to come. This, I swear to you."

Duke Azelas pursed his lips together, and his cheek trembled. "I thank you, Your Majesty." He gripped her upper arm with a spindly hand and squeezed; Ashe did not flinch despite the sudden pressure. "It is well to know that my son's life was not lost in vain." He looked up at a figure approaching through the crowd. Ashe followed his gaze, and swallowed at the appearance of another man with even more familiar features. "It is true, Randal, and as we feared: Vossler is lost to the war."

Randal Azelas, Shison's eldest son and heir, stopped, then shook his head. "I was expecting news of this sort, but the likelihood of Vossler's death does not make knowledge of its certainty any less of a blow." He turned to Ashe with a bow. "If you would, my lady, tell me of my brother's death someday? But not tonight; tonight is a time for celebration."

"Indeed." Ashe casually worked herself free of the elder noble's grip and returned Randal's greeting. "It is well to see you again." She had forgotten how much the York brothers resembled one another, despite nearly a decade's difference in age. It was almost like seeing Vossler again, and it unsettled her. How often was she going to have to look into the faces of ghosts?

"And you, Your Majesty." Randal lifted his hand into the air and snapped his fingers; within seconds, an aide had appeared at his arm, a tray of drinks in his hand. Randal took two and handed one to his father, the other to Ashe. After taking a third for himself, he raised the glass. "A toast to you, and to your restoration."

Ashe drank, and wondered how many more of these meetings she was going to have to face tonight.

-x-

Al-Cid was not a morning person under the best of circumstances, but especially not after a long night of meetings, trysts, and as brief an appearance at dinner as he could politely manage. Had his time been his own, he would be safely abed now, watching as the soft pink of the morning sun began to peek through the clefts in the mountains, drifting into sleep with a bird under each arm. Instead, he had snatched a brief nap between dinner and his appointment with Anissa, then another hour afterwards, and now he was here, fighting to keep his eyes open in the Aerodrome, waiting for the guard to take him and Martina to Azlan's ship, the Asura. Javier would stay behind, gathering reports from the Rozarrian network as best he could, then ready the Ambervale residence for what Al-Cid hoped would be a swift return.

"Ah, there you are." Azlan's smooth voice came from behind them, and Al-Cid turned, bowing briefly to his brother. "I was afraid you might be late." He did not attempt to hide his distaste for what he saw as Al-Cid's lack of discipline. "Come." Without waiting for a response, he swept past Al-Cid and through the gate to his airship. Al-Cid looked over his shoulder at Martina and let his exasperation show. Then he composed his face and followed his brother onto the Asura.

Half the city guard seemed to have turned out for the occasion, and Al-Cid walked past the two rows of men, nodding to them as he went by and stepped onto the gangway of Rozarria's diplomatic flagship. As he entered, a servant met him and bowed. "Welcome aboard, sire," he said. "Prince Azlan is waiting for you in the salon, where breakfast will be served. Do you care for a drink?"

"Coffee, if you please. Black, two sugars. And an orange juice for my aide." Al-Cid shrugged his coat off his shoulders; Martina caught it and handed it to the servant, who accepted it with another bow.

"Very good. They will be delivered shortly. Enjoy your flight."

Al-Cid nodded, then went in the direction the servant had indicated. He had traveled aboard the Asura before, but it seemed that someone had given it a thorough redesign since his last flight. More richly appointed than the Eden, which was at heart a fighting ship, it featured fine woodwork and chrome trim that had been polished to gleaming. Al-Cid noted the mahogany columns, buffed highly enough to serve as a mirror. "I see Azlan still has expensive tastes," he muttered to himself as his reflection caught his eye; the early morning wind had blown his hair into disarray, and he grimaced. It took some effort to resist using his fingers to comb it back into to place.

"Let me." Martina nudged him into an alcove, then pulled a comb from her pocket. She whisked it through his bangs, getting out the tangles with a few strokes. After checking him from several angles, she replaced the comb with a nod, then held her hand out for his glasses. He gave them to her and, after checking that they were unobserved, he thanked her with a swift kiss. Only a few steps more, and they were in the salon. Azlan was already there, seated at the table with another woman; as Al-Cid entered the room, she turned and rose with a smile.

"Welcome aboard."

He approached her, hands held out, and when he reached her, he kissed her on both cheeks. "Ana. I was not informed that you would be joining us."

"How could I not?" Ana Margrace Alcenar, third child and oldest daughter of Roderigio, and the best negotiator in all of Rozarria, pulled him by the hand toward the table. "When Father announced his plans to send a delegation, I was the first to volunteer."

"Not, however, the first to be asked." Azlan looked up from his coffee as Ana and Al-Cid sat down, and his smile was tight. He bore little more love for Ana than he did for Al-Cid, but their roles as lead diplomats for Rozarria often brought them together. Ana had worked some minor miracles for the Empire, once even negotiating a treaty with the Urutan-Yensa. Al-Cid privately thought that Ana would make a better monarch than either of her elder brothers, but the chances of her gaining the throne were far more remote than even his own. A pity.

A cup pressed into his hand distracted Al-Cid from his musings, and he turned to smile into the eyes of the pretty blond serving girl who had delivered it. "Thank you, my dear." He bowed his head without taking his eyes from her face, and spots of pink rose to her cheeks at his attentions; she backed away, shyly smiling back. Al-Cid lifted his mug to her, then blew on his coffee to cool it before taking a sip. As she left, he turned back to the table, noting both Ana's smile of amusement and Azlan's scowl.

"Still flirting with the servants, I see." Azlan set down his own cup and shook his head. "A poor habit in a prince."

Al-Cid shrugged. "I have not heard you complain about the information my 'poor habits' have brought you over the years."

"It is unbecoming regardless." Azlan sniffed. "And long past time we married you off to someone respectable and put a stop to this nonsense."

Ana laughed, a bit sourly. "In the same way that marriage stopped Father from dallying with the maids? And Rozarrian noblewomen, and wives of foreign dignitaries?" She shook her head. "You may be a faithful husband, Azlan, but you are a rarity among the men of House Margrace." She caught Al-Cid's eye. "No disrespect meant, of course."

Al-Cid responded with a smooth nod. "None taken, dear sister." A lifetime of hearing whispers about his own dubious legitimacy had inured him, somewhat. Ana, at least, did not hold it against him, although he sometimes wondered if she held it against Roderigio. "But enough rehashing the past. Tell me about our objectives."

"Did Father brief you?" Azlan snapped his fingers, and the serving girl reappeared, three breakfast plates and a basket of rolls balanced in her hands.

"No. He said you would fill me in."

"Ah." Azlan glanced at Ana, then back to Al-Cid. "Well. You have been gone for some time, so I will assume that you know nothing and start from scratch. Mind, you probably know more about the situation on the ground in Dalmasca and Archadia than Ana or I; if you have newer or better information, then share it right away." Al-Cid nodded; like Roderigio, Azlan might not approve of Al-Cid's sources, but he never doubted their veracity. "All right, the beginning. Ondore approached us about six months ago--"

"Before that," Ana interrupted. "I want Cid's perspective on the attack on Nabradia."

"Surely he knows of the connection already?" Azlan protested.

"I'm sure he does." Ana glanced at Al-Cid sidelong. "But given our interests in Nabradia, it bears on our current situation; best not to leave it out."

Al-Cid set down his coffee and took a warm roll from the basket. "If you are referring to Father's claim that we had a right to be involved in the war because Vayne's true target was Rozarrian partisans within Nabudis, I am familiar with the theory. Alas, I had only one bird nesting in Nabradia, and I have not heard from her since the land was devastated; I can but assume her to be lost." His throat tightened as he thought on Lieza, the sweetly shy girl who worked at a garden café in the park that surrounded the city -- he had only met with her twice, but she'd known how to charm secrets from men and women alike, and he'd had great hopes for her as a recruiter within the city. "I fear, therefore, that I can neither confirm nor deny its truth, at least from the Nabradian perspective."

"Unfortunate." Azlan shook his head. "Regardless, some months after the attack on Nabudis, a small pack of refugees appeared on the doorstep of the War Pavilion, claming sanctuary based on a treaty signed by a member of the Nabradian gentry, only a few months before the attack. Do you care to guess whose name was on the treaty?"

"Not Father's; otherwise we'd be meeting in rather different circumstances." Al-Cid looked up, meeting first Ana's eyes, then Azlan's. "Tiesto, then."

Azlan pointed his fork at Al-Cid. "Very good. Yes, Tiesto. It appears that he had been making overtures to the king over the previous several years; when those failed, he worked his way down the royal court, ingratiating himself with a number of sympathizers. He signed a mutual defense pact with them -- without, of course, receiving the blessing of either Father or the Board of Governors -- and then left, vague promises of future favors in his wake. Accordingly, 'twas troops under Tiesto's command who came to the defense of Nabradia two years ago, and who engaged the Archadean army in this latest skirmish."

"Troublesome." Al-Cid folded his hands on the table. "And furthermore, it troubles me that knowledge of this group spread outside of Rozarria more easily than within it. I have heard only rumors of their existence, and knew nothing of them at all before the initial attack, only after. If I was not aware of these sympathizers, nor you, nor Father or the Board, how could Vayne have known about them?"

Azlan nodded. "You come to the heart of the matter with an excellent question, one to which I believe you are best placed to discover the answer. Between the efforts of your network, and your... relationship with Her Majesty, Queen Ashe, I hope you will know the truth of this before we leave Dalmasca. This is my charge to you, Al-Cid: to learn what, if anything, Vayne knew of this treaty before he destroyed Nabudis."

Al-Cid bowed his head. "I accept your charge, my brother." He leaned back in his chair, picking up the coffee mug once again. "Curious that our Lord Father honored the treaty. Nor would I have expected the Board to go along with such a thing."

"Between us, brother, there were those who would have preferred not to." Ana leaned toward him, eyebrows raised. "Elements of the Board grow increasingly uncomfortable with evidence of expansionist ambitions on Tiesto's part."

"But not the entire Board," Al-Cid replied with a frown. "I heard rumblings only last night that, public speechmaking to the contrary, not all of the Board was happy to see such a swift conclusion to the war. As for Tiesto, he says all the right things about his desire for peace between the Empires. But when I saw him on the Eden, his frustration was palpable."

"That frustration is apparent off the field as well." Ana nodded at him, then Azlan. "He seems restive in Board meetings, and Father becomes impatient with him. I suspect Father and his allies on the Board hoped that Tiesto would have set aside his ambitions by now, but they seem only to grow as he opportunities for them to be fulfilled slip away. And so the worry remains: would Tiesto see us return to open war with Archadia? And if so, how to stop him?"

"There is one sure way." Azlan crossed his arms. "Keep him off the throne."

"Hah!" Al-Cid shook his head. "After Tiesto has been accepted by the Board not once, but twice? And when he has support from half the Board as well as the War Pavilion? Who would we advance in his place? You?"

Azlan looked at Al-Cid, saying nothing, a hint of a smile on his lips; Ana looked down at her plate. After a moment of silence, Al-Cid found a bark of shocked laughter passing his lips. "You aren't serious."

"Look me straight in the eye and tell me you wouldn't want it." Azlan leaned forward in his seat, his dark eyes unflinching.

Al-Cid stared straight back. "I don't want it." Azlan raised an eyebrow; Al-Cid stood up and dropped his coffee cup onto the table. "I prefer to exercise power behind the throne. And in the interest of keeping that position secure, I would fain not be associated with talk of what amounts to a coup. Come back to me when you have something more concrete, a real candidate, preferably with Father's hand backing him." He turned and, with a snap of his fingers, Martina was at his side, pressing his sunglasses into his hand. "Come with me to the deck, my dear. I find I'm in need of some air." And he left without a glance backwards.

-x-

Ashe took an early morning breakfast to her father's study, then began the work of receiving dignitaries. The night before, she had referred the requests of everyone with sufficient standing to her father's old secretary -- retrieved from retirement almost immediately upon her return -- to set up an appointment. The calendar book sat open on her desk, and it was already full. To her utter lack of surprise, the first name on the list was Randal Azelas, and when the knock came at the door, she called him in.

"Your Majesty." Azelas bowed deeply at the waist. "Thank you for seeing me so quickly."

"I could hardly do less for one of House Dalmasca's greatest allies," Ashe replied, gesturing to the seat across from her. He sat, and she folded her hands on the desk. "But -- and pardon my forwardness -- why are you here rather than His Grace?"

"As you no doubt noted last night, my father is elderly, growing more frail by the year." Azelas shook his head. "The occupation took its toll on him, as did the death of his dear friend King Raminas. And I fear that the ill tidings you brought last night, while needful for him to hear, have laid him quite low. So he has returned to our seat, to recuperate and to grieve. Already, he had all but retired from his seat on the council, and the leadership of House Azelas -- I have been taking care of daily business for some time now. He has indicated to me that he will make this arrangement formal sometime in the next few weeks."

"I am both glad and sorry to hear it," said Ashe. "Sorry to hear of your father's decline, but relieved that you are ready to step in his place." She cast him a sharp look. "I pray that I can presume upon our fathers' friendship to count you as an ally, and to tell me the truth of these past two years. Who remained steadfast in their support of House Dalmasca, who made the Archadian invaders welcome, whose loyalty is true."

Azelas bowed in his seat. "My lady, I am honored to provide you with whatever intelligence and support you require. Shall I start with the most steadfast, and work downwards?"

For nearly an hour, Azelas spoke and Ashe listened, stopping him only briefly to ask a question or two, taking notes all the while. It was instructive, and also sobering, to hear names she had known all her life listed among the people who had wholeheartedly embraced Vayne and his retinue, or conversely had spoken with open admiration of Basch and his supposed murder of the "weak" king, that fighting to the death would have been better than surrender.

"Not to mention the Rozarrian sympathizers," Azelas added, as his list drew to a close. "Not so many of those among our people, to be sure, and most of the Nabradian nobles who supported that lot either died in the attack on Nabudis, or fled to Rozarria. But a few remain here; most not open in their support, but you should be aware of their presence. And then there are a handful of Nabradians who long for true independence. Lord Rasafan Mallabus Refa is first among their number; chief among the Rozarrian supporters in Rabanastre is Marcus Thierry, the late general's son."

"I know Thierry." Ashe raised an eyebrow in surprise. "He was a great friend of Rasler's, and the general often consulted with us on matters of mutual defense. But I would not have expected the general to support the Rozarrian faction."

Azelas shook his head. "Your instincts are true. On this matter, father and son parted ways."

"Ah." Ashe sat back in her chair. "Well. You needn't worry about Thierry. I expect to garner his full support."

"Good." Azelas folded his hands in his lap. "But you will have to win them both over if you have any hope to claiming the throne of their nation."

"And the throne of my own nation?" Ashe frowned. "You know as well as anyone that my father never publicly proclaimed me heir. There was no time betwixt Rasler's death and his own. Will there be any to challenge me?"

"Not openly. " Azelas drummed his fingers against the desk. "But behind closed doors... well. You know as well as anyone that the prospect of a woman as sole monarch, even of impeccable pedigree, will engender resistance." He looked across the desk at her, a gleam in his eyes. "How long do you intend to remain sole?"

"For as long as possible," Ashe replied calmly. "And I know what rests on the tip of your tongue regarding heirs, but there are ways around that particular problem. But say no more on this, Randal. When I marry, if I marry, is not the most urgent question before us, and I would appreciate it if the subject could stay dropped until after I am crowned. It is a distraction that I will not suffer." Azelas nodded. "As for the other, I will put forth the following offer, and if you would help see it spread, I would appreciate your aid. If anyone objects to my ascending to the throne of Dalmasca, have them put forth their candidate. We will examine their bloodline; if it proves true, then, and only then, will I discuss stepping aside." She raised an eyebrow. "Of course, you know as well as I that no such candidate will be found."

"Of course." Azelas rose with a bow. "It is a good plan, Your Majesty, and I will support you in it, as I do in all things."

"Many thanks." Ashe paused. "The Rozarrian delegation arrives tonight. Normally, as the head of the council, your father would receive them with me, but I would be honored if you would join me in his place."

"Nothing would please me more." He bowed again. "Tonight, then." He left the room, and the door had barely closed behind him before the next visitor had arrived to replace him.

And so the rest of the morning passed into the afternoon, one appointment after another, as Ashe met with the lords and ladies of noble houses, commanders of varying levels in the army and the fleet, resistance leaders who had acquitted themselves well, powerful merchants and traders, even a few clan representatives. Ashe heard what they had to say, compared their words with Azelas's notes and her own recollections, made her own judgments. A pattern quickly emerged: protestations of joy at her safety and return to rule (with varying levels of sincerity), wishes for her continuing health and leadership, words of advice regarding whom to trust and whom to avoid (some contradictory), and last but certainly not least, questions regarding when they might expect another royal wedding. To this final query Ashe always provided the same firm reply: "I have not yet begun to consider; I wish to consolidate my rule first." Outwardly, the answer was accepted, but Ashe wondered how many of them were already beginning to plot how to advance their own candidates. Despite his easy willingness to drop the subject, even Azelas almost certainly had someone in mind -- one of his sons, perhaps; they were unmarried, and close to her in age.

Only one visitor deviated greatly from this pattern, and he was the last: the Bangaa merchant Migelo. When Ashe called him in, he rushed into the room, hands outstretched, and with a smile Ashe stood up and took them.

"Your Majesty! Oh, it is well to see you. And I want to thank you, majesty, for taking such good care of Vaan and Penelo -- they're in my service, you know, and I couldn't be prouder of them. They're like my own children, they are, and I'm just so glad to have them returned to me safe and sound."

"Who would have thought that two street urchins would provide the key to regaining Dalmasca's freedom?" Ashe replied. "And yet I would never have succeeded without their aid. Please, remind them that they are welcome in the palace anytime." She had half expected to see them at last night's dinner, although she understood if they preferred to skip the more staid state events.

"Of course, Your Majesty." Migelo bowed as deeply as a Bangaa could manage. "And I do hope that you will consider me to provision your parties and dinners, even though to my shame I provided the same service when the Archadians occupied your palace."

"I appreciate your honesty, and of course; submit your bids as before." Ashe stepped back. "How do your wards? Have they yet adjusted to the everyday?"

"Fine, fine," Migelo said heartily. "Penelo minds the shop and Vaan runs errands, although he spends almost every free minute working on that ship of his. I tell you, you could have knocked me down with a chocobo feather when he flew into the Aerodrome, easy as you please, and announced that he was taking care of the ship your ladyship used on her adventures!"

Ashe forced out a smile, even though the suddenness of the reminder hit her with the force of a blow. Of course, the Strahl would be in Vaan's care. He had taken custody of it, after. And his it would remain, unless...

She shook her head to clear the thoughts away. "I can imagine the joy he must take in it," she said straining to keep her tone polite and calm. "He does love flying."

"Oh, you should hear him go on." Migelo shook his head with a chuckle. "Thank you again for seeing me, Your Majesty. You won't regret it!"

Ashe murmured some pleasantry as the merchant left, and she went to the window, opening it for a breath of air. For the first time since leaving the Strahl for the palace, she felt constricted by stone walls, by the lack of open sky above and wide earth below. Pushing the window outward, she let the breeze in, felt it ruffle her hair, took deep breaths to smell the heat of the desert. It was a mercy that this window did not look out onto the wreck of the Bahamut; she thought the sight of that ship, at this moment, just might undo her.

"Ashe?"

The lilting voice of Halim Ondore floated into the room, and she wanted nothing more than to turn to him and throw herself in his arms, like she was a little girl again, mourning the death of her mother, her brothers, her favorite chocobo who had broken his leg. But the time for such things was past, and she took a deep breath, closed the window, and turned to face him. "Uncle."

"Pardon the interruption." Ondore bowed to her. "But I wished to see how your meetings progress."

"Well," Ashe said, pouring herself a glass of water before lowering herself into the easy chair. "Enlightening."

"Perhaps this will enlighten you further." Ondore held out a sealed envelope, the wax button marking it as a missive from House Solidor. "A runner came from Archades just a few moments ago, and I thought you would wish to see the news he carried."

Ashe took the note, cracked the seal and read.

Ondore settled onto the couch; she could feel his eyes trying to decipher the message by the expression on her face. "Good news?" he finally asked.

"Indeed." Ashe looked up from the note, written in Basch's firm hand, with a smile. "The Senate has voted its confidence in Larsa -- he will serve as emperor in his own stead, no regent."

"Ah!" Ondore's face broke into a smile as well. "Fine news, indeed."

"We shall congratulate him in person tomorrow." Ashe folded the letter as she set it on the end table. "And the Rozarrians arrive tonight. Have you any word on who will represent Roderigio Margrace?"

"His second son, Azlan," Ondore said. "A fine negotiator; he would have made a good leader, as well, but it was not meant to be. So he has settled for serving his father and the crown prince."

"Thank you for this, Uncle." Ashe stood. "I hope you will be attendant on the negotiations as well."

"At table, and at dinner tonight." Ondore rose, and laid a hand on her shoulder. "I will see you there."

-x

The hours of endless ocean had given way to Nabradia's shores, and Al-Cid stirred in his lounge chair. He had installed himself in the solarium at the front of the ship to brood over Azlan's words; Martina had first attempted to soothe him, but eventually she had left him to his drink and his ill temper. Now he set the empty glass on the floor and stood to walk over to the huge window at the front of the cabin. Soon they would be over the ruins of Nabudis, and as many times as he had already seen the sobering sight, he found that he could never look away. They were coming into view now, the spires of twisted metal and stone peeking out from the clouds of choking Mist. He touched the glass with a fingertip and gave his thanks that Ambervale would never suffer this same fate.

"By the gods," a voice whispered softly beside him; Al-Cid turned his head to see Ana standing next to him, her hands gripped behind her back. "That is Nabudis?"

"It is," Al-Cid replied, his voice grim.

Ana approached the window, reaching forward with her palm and pressing it against the glass. "Gods above." She shuddered, and Al-Cid stepped closer, draping an arm around her shoulder. Leaning into him, her shaking stopped, but she did not look away. "The devastation is worse than even the most wildly exaggerated stories."

Al-Cid gestured with his other hand. "This is what Vayne and Tiesto have brought to us with their ambitions: death, destruction, a land ruined beyond repair, an imbalance in the Mist that may never be rectified." He shook his head. "And for what? The rights to fly ships over a scrap of land? Pfah!"

They stood in silence for as long as it took the ship to pass over the horrors of the ruined city and the parklands that had once surrounded it; once the scenery gave way to the less unsettling ground of the Salikawood, Ana shook herself free of Al-Cid's embrace and turned away from the window. "This is why we travel to Rabanastre: to help ensure that no such tragedy ever happens again." Al-Cid followed her to the bar, where she took a seat and gestured toward the stool next to her.

"The Lady Ashe and her companions have lessened the chances greatly," Al-Cid replied, "by destroying the Sun-Cryst, the world's only source of deifacted nethicite."

"True," Ana replied with a frown. "Although we do not know what other horrors might lie in those laboratories to the north. Manufacted nethicite? Natural shards, horded for research? Some other weapon of unimaginable power?" She sighed. "I would be happier if I trusted Archadia to lay those cards on the table."

"Larsa will, as long as his Senators and that hound of his don't change his mind." Al-Cid took the glass that the bartender handed to him with a nod, then sipped of the wine. "It will be good to see Larsa again. I have wondered how he fares: so young, to have seen the deaths of father and brothers, to have the yoke of an empire laid across his shoulders."

"You have said he is strong; now comes the true test of his mettle." Ana drew her wrap around her shoulders. "I do look forward to meeting him, and to seeing Rabanastre for the first time. How is it that I have never managed to come to Dalmasca before this?"

"Because that husband of yours would wrap you in cotton, did Father not see you as such a valuable asset." Al-Cid slumped back against his seat. "When was the last time you left Rosalis for anywhere other than Ambervale?"

Ana didn't answer; instead, she swiveled to face Al-Cid. "We never finished our discussion, this morning." She looked up at him, eyes clear of guile. "I regret Azlan's directness; it is a matter he and I have discussed, with very little resolution, and it derailed us from the true purpose of the conversation: planning our strategy for negotiations with Dalmasca and Archadia."

"Mm." Al-Cid set the wineglass on the bar, rolling his fingers over the stem. "I know my personal directive: to learn what Vayne might have known about Tiesto's involvement with Nabradia. What of our official goals?"

"We have two overriding purposes: first, to restore the truce broken by the recent actions, and secondarily to ensure that Archadia draws back into its borders and promises not to threaten Dalmasca. If stronger trade and mutual defense agreements result, that is to the good, so long as Dalmasca does not become too cozy with its former enemy. And, of course, we should be alert to any indications that Her Majesty might be willing to enter into a permanent alliance with House Margrace."

"A reasonable set of goals. Perhaps a bit too reasonable." Al-Cid tapped the wooden surface of the bar with his right hand. "What of Nabradia?"

Ana smiled. "We see what they say, and what you learn. We do not yet even know who rules Nabradia -- Ashe seems the logical choice, as the closest thing they have remaining to a member of the royal family, unless some distant relation presents himself." She tipped her head thoughtfully. "Alma was of Nabradian heritage, was she not?"

Al-Cid snorted. "Of a minor house, only, and some generations back. But no more of this talk, Ana. You know better than anyone that I've no interest in any throne."

"Ah, Cid." Ana reached her hand to his face. "Don't you know that no one who longs to rule is fit to do so? Give me a reluctant king, every time; he will be a better man and a better leader." She patted his cheek. "But I understand. Well, as long as Nabradia does not fall into Archadian hands, whether by direct rule or by stronger ties with Dalmasca."

"Indeed." Al-Cid finished his wine, then held out his hand to Ana. "Perhaps another solution will yet present itself."

"We can only hope, my brother." Ana took his hand and squeezed his fingers. "There are a few hours yet before we arrive; tell me more of the Lady Ashe, so I can be prepared to meet her."

-x-

Ashe had thought to meet the delegation in the Aerodrome, but Randal Azelas had talked her out of it. "You are the ruler of this city and of this land," he had counseled. "Make them come to you. To do otherwise would be a sign of weakness." So instead she was here, in the throne room, surrounded by her nobles and counselors. The trumpets blew as she set foot on the dais, striding up the stairs, not showing the hesitation she felt as she sat on the throne and settled back into the rich green cushions. She would not wear the crown until her coronation, but the seat she would claim. The chair on her left, the one last sat by her mother, she left open in memory of Rasler; on her right was Azelas, representing his father the duke, as she had requested. He bowed to her, almost deeply enough to touch his forehead to the armrest of the chair, and the rest of the court followed suit; Ashe inclined her head to him in return.

Azelas took his seat, and Ashe faced forward, sitting straight up in her throne, hands placed lightly on its armrests, as the trumpeter sounded his horn again. "Your Majesty, I present to you Prince Azlan Margrace of Rozarria!" The door at the end of the room swung open, and into the room came a dozen nobles and aides, lead by a slender man of about forty. His black hair was cropped close to his head, topped by a simple golden circlet. Next to him was a woman almost as tall as he, with broader shoulders but the same dark hair cut almost as short. And then behind them both Ashe spied a familiar figure, a sight nearly as welcome as it was surprising: Al-Cid Margrace, looking straight at her, meeting her eye with a half smile as he glided down the aisle. It was all she could do not to smile or nod in return; instead, she lifted her shoulders and held out her hand to the leader of the delegation as he approached her throne, hand outstretched.

"Welcome to Dalmasca," she said.

"Your Majesty." Prince Azlan took her hand and bent to swiftly kiss it. "My Lord Father regrets that he is unable to come to these negotiations himself and begs you to accept his children as a poor substitute." Ashe dipped her chin in acknowledgement, and Azlan rose. "May I present to you my sister, Princess Ana Margrace Alcenar?" The tall woman curtsied to Ashe, holding her pale green skirts wide, then stepped back and out of the way as Azlan continued. "And I understand you are already acquainted with my brother, Al-Cid."

Al-Cid strode out from behind his siblings and took Ashe's hand lightly in his fingers. He seemed small in comparison to them, which made the grace of his movements all the more noticeable. "Your Majesty, it is an unalloyed pleasure to see you again."

"Agreed." Ashe met his warm eyes with a genuine smile. His presence in the delegation was most unexpected, and though she found the inclusion of a friendly face pleasing on a personal level, the implications would bear puzzling through. But later; for now, it was time for her to play gracious host. She pulled her hand away from Al-Cid's and returned her attention to Azlan, standing with a flourish. "Prince Azlan, Princess Ana, assorted guests. On behalf of myself and all Dalmasca, I bid you welcome to our palace. Please, won't you accompany me to the banquet hall for a dinner prepared in your honor?"

"I gladly accept." Azlan bowed again, then stepped aside to allow room for Ashe to walk down the steps and past the nobility, Azelas a step behind her and Al-Cid's eyes on her back.

-x-

The Archadians arrived the next morning, and Ashe awaited them in the throne room as well, the same advisors behind and beside her; today, the captain of her guard, Abeldart Roland, took a place by her side, wearing the Dalmascan light armor that covered his head and shoulders, a spear in his hand. The Rozarrian delegation gathered to her right, near the foot of the dais. The new arrivals formed a phalanx with Basch at its head, covered top-to-toe in the armor of a Judge Magister: Gabranth's armor. Peering around his bulk, Ashe could see Larsa, a confident step behind, and then a small army of advisors, retainers, and soldiers at his back.

Reaching the steps to the platform, Basch halted, then stepped aside; the rest of the party followed his lead, forming a receiving line of sorts down the aisle. Larsa alone continued on, mounting the dais and stopping at Ashe's feet, crossing his arms and bowing his head. "Your Majesty," he said. "It is well to see you again."

"And you," Ashe replied. "I am gladdened to hear of your acclimation as Emperor."

Larsa raised his chin to meet her eyes, smiling politely. "I was pleased to have the Senate come to an easy accord on this matter. We encountered some early resistance by those Senators still suspicious of Vayne's influence; the support of Judge Magister Zargabaath was invaluable in convincing them otherwise."

Ashe scanned the crowd for Zargabaath's distinctive helm, but did not see it. "Where is His Honor today?"

"Zargabaath remained in Archades. There is, as you might imagine, much to do to rebuild the military -- four Judges Magister to appoint, ships to commission, and so forth. Judge Magister Gabranth will represent the interests of the military in our negotiations."

"I understand." Ashe searched Larsa's fate for any acknowledgement of the secret they shared regarding the true identity of the man behind the mask of Gabranth, but he betrayed nothing: eyes wide open, clear of any emotion. She wished she had been so skilled at hiding truths at that age. At any age. Letting the moment pass, she held out her hand to him, and he took it with a bow. "You are welcome in Dalmasca, Emperor Larsa. The run of the palace is yours. May I present Captain Roland?" She let go his hand and indicated the captain on her right. "He is in charge of security here; anything you require, you need only to ask it of him."

Roland nodded to Larsa. "Speak to me personally, or leave a message with any of the guards," he added.

"Many thanks." Larsa inclined his head. "I am sure we will have a productive visit. If I may introduce the remainder of my party?" He led Ashe down the steps, then took his place at the head of the line. "You know Judge Magister Gabranth, of course."

Ashe nodded, and Basch nodded in return. "Your Majesty," he said, the response muffled behind the mask, a hollow echo of the voice she knew so well.

"Welcome to Dalmasca," she replied, tone cool. Not trusting herself to linger, she moved on to the next person, and then the next, the men and women of Archades blurring into a mass of Senators and delegates and aides and--

Ashe nearly choked on her polite greeting as she looked up into the next face in the receiving line: cool blue eyes, close-cropped light brown hair, a sardonic expression. But also a dusting of beard, and a squared jaw-line, putting her more in mind of the man who had to be his father.

"Your Majesty." He bowed. "Edgar Bunansa, of Archades and Draklor Laboratory, at your service. My elder brother Sevrin sends his greetings and his regrets; he was invited to join the delegation, but regrettably was tied up putting the affairs of our house in order."

Ashe inclined her head, taking a moment to compose her response. Her first impulse, to offer condolences on his loss, seemed somehow obscene given the circumstances, and the edge she noted in his voice. "Welcome to Rabanastre," she said. "So you are affiliated with Draklor."

"I am." His nod was sober. "But to my late father's mad schemes, I can assure you I was not a party." His mouth set into a line. "I am here as a show of good faith from the Empire, that we will not keep such deadly secrets in Draklor ever again." Ashe could hear a touch of resentment in his tone, and she wondered who the most likely target was. Larsa, Dr. Cid, herself? She said nothing more, however, only nodded to him again and made to move on.

And then, Bunansa's hand shot out, as though to grab at her arm; he stopped himself only just in time, and she turned to him.

His mouth worked, his throat bobbed, and he spoke his next words through a mouthful of knives. "The pirate. Does he live?"

Ashe bit the inside of her cheek, lightly, so that no one could see. She stepped closer and lowered her voice. "I know not. We sent rescue parties into the Bahamut, as did Zargabaath; a few survivors were found. Not many. But... he was not there. Among the living, or the dead."

"Nor the Viera?" Ashe shook her head, and Bunansa's shoulders slumped. "I see."

Without thinking, Ashe let her hand brush the hem of his sleeve, richly embroidered with gold thread. "The Bahamut is a large ship, and the crash left it without internal power; each deck must be searched on foot. Do not give up hope -- more survivors may yet be found. Or perhaps they escaped on their own." She knew as she spoke the words that they were as much for herself as for Bunansa, a reassurance that she had made silently many times before but had not yet spoken aloud.

Bunansa took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders again. "It is of no consequence. Ffamran made his choices; if they have left him for dead, then so be it." He bowed to her, his eyes cold once again. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

-x-

Farther back in the line, Al-Cid had come to his feet to join the small knot of Rozarrians that had organized themselves into a rough line, pressing in after the representatives of Dalmasca. He stood between Azlan and Ana, shuffling forward as the mass of people moved, each person exchanging pleasantries with the one before them. As they waited, he leaned back to Ana. "Such a large delegation," he murmured, in Rozarrian to keep from being overheard. "To ensure that all internal interests are fairly represented, or to keep those interests properly obfuscated?"

"Watchers of the boy-king, more like," was Ana's soft reply. "He is a new monarch; his people know not which way he will go. Every faction in Archadia will want their own eyes on him, both to analyze and to influence his actions."

And then the time for discussion and speculation ended, as Azlan reached Larsa and bowed his head. "Emperor Larsa, I presume? I am Azlan Margrace, second son of His Royal Majesty Emperor Roderigio, fifth of that name. It is a great honor to meet you."

"I thank you for coming," Larsa replied. "I presume you are representing the interests of the Empire at these negotiations?"

"Indeed." Azlan raised his head. "Myself, and my sister Princess Ana, and my half-brother Al-Cid, whom I believe is known to you?"

"Yes." Larsa broke into a genuine smile, which Al-Cid could not help but return as he stepped forward. "I am so pleased to see you, and to learn that you fare well despite your misadventure at Bur-Omisace."

Al-Cid took Larsa's outstretched hands and clasped them. "A minor setback, nothing more. I am glad to see you well also, and may I offer condolences on your recent losses."

Larsa's smile slipped, but only briefly as he shook his head. "Though I appreciate the sentiment, there is no need. You had no reason to love Lord Vayne, and every reason to want him dead. Though I was grieved at its necessity, the fact remains that it was, indeed, necessary, to secure the future of Ivalice."

Al-Cid risked stepping closer to clap Larsa on the shoulder. "Still, the fall of a brother is no easy thing to face. Be well, my friend."

He looked up again, and the smile was genuine now, if sad. "My thanks, Al-Cid. I look forward to speaking with you more on the morrow."

The line moved on, and Al-Cid found himself face to face -- or face-to-mask, perhaps -- with Judge Magister Gabranth. "Your Honor," he said with a nod. "Al-Cid Margrace, at your service."

"A pleasure." Gabranth nodded. "We will speak more in council, I am certain."

"Until then." Al-Cid stepped down to the next person in line. "Al-Cid Margrace, younger son of Roderigio, at your service." And so it continued, until the last hand had been shaken, the last pleasantry exchanged, leaving the real work to begin.


	2. Chapter 2

Escaping the palace was trivial for Al-Cid; twenty-seven years of being the least-important royal personage in any given room had granted him the ability to make himself invisible almost at will. If he had harbored more personal political ambitions, perhaps it would have irritated him, but it was a useful skill for a spymaster. Each night, as the dinner plates were cleared away and the toasts wound down, Al-Cid had taken his leave, slipping out a lesser-used entrance to meet Martina, who waited for him, heavy black cloak in hand. Fortunate, he thought as he made this pilgrimage to the side door for the third night in a row, that the chilly nights of Rabanastre made such concealing outerwear a practical disguise -- he blended in with the other denizens of the city as they headed home or to the taverns for the night.

On his first sojourn from the palace, Al-Cid's destination had been the Sandsea for a visit with Lin, his operative there; his second had been to meet Lin's friend Jasca, a chambermaid in the Azelas residence who Lin had recommended as a good source for information about Nabradia. Tonight, he was meeting the women together, in a small tavern off the adventurer's market on the west side of town. He had presented them with his queries about the connection between Tiesto's secret pact with Nabradia and Vayne's open attack on the land, and they had, by noon today, already sent word of information to share. He made his way through the market, the scents of spices and broiling meat rich in the air, letting the sounds of the barking peddlers and customers wash over him as he found the draped-over doorway leading to the bar. He paused and looked over his shoulder to the bodyguard he had brought along, a broad-shouldered young man named Ramon, preferring to expose him to the unknown parts of the city rather than Martina. Ramon stepped ahead and stuck his head through the curtains; once he had looked around to his satisfaction, he pulled the fabric aside and stood away, giving Al-Cid room to pass.

"Wait here," Al-Cid said in Rozarrian. Then he entered the bar, which was nearly empty but for two Viera hunters and the girls he had come to meet -- Dalmascans both, with similar blond hair, green eyes, and round faces, the differences between them manifesting only when they stood to greet him, revealing one to be some inches taller than the other. Al-Cid approached to their table, his hands outstretched. "Lin," he said to the shorter one, taking her hand and pulling her in for a swift kiss. She kissed him in return, her free hand squeezing his shoulder. Then he turned to Jasca; because of their new acquaintance, he contented himself with a peck on the cheek. "Jasca. Your swift news was a welcome gift." He looked around the bar; it was somewhat shabby, the blue and green tiles on the floor dingy and scuffed with wear, the middle-aged bartender tiredly polishing a glass behind the bar. "Why this place, though, rather than the Sandsea?"

Lin pulled her hand free of Al-Cid's and sat; Jasca followed suit, and Al-Cid did as well, raising his hand for the bartender. "I thought it best that you not be seen there, two nights so close together," said Lin. "This is more out of the way. Until recently, it was used as a meeting place by the Resistance."

"Very good." Al-Cid leaned forward. "So, what have you to tell me?"

Lin and Jasca exchanged a glance, which was interrupted by the bartender, three mugs of ale in his hand; he dropped them all on the table and left without a word. Once he was safely back behind his counter, Jasca took a deep breath. "It's just rumors, really, but I asked around the household, and some other maids I knew in other houses. Many Nabradian nobles came here, you know, once their land had been destroyed -- people who had been traveling at the time of the attack, or living elsewhere. Some have alliances or distant relatives here, so they've been living in the noble houses. And everyone I asked pointed me to the same person: Victor Andros, a distant relation to House Heios who runs a large trading company. I learned that Andros believed in an alliance with Rozarria, and that he once boasted of meeting with the crown prince Tiesto himself."

"I see." Al-Cid took a sip of his beer; it was refreshing and light, if somewhat bitter to his taste. "Curious, in that case, that he would have sought shelter here, rather than in Rosalis with the main body of Rozarrian loyalists."

Jasca nodded. "It seemed strange to me, too. But Lin did some checking and... well, I'll let her tell it."

Lin took a swig from her mug, leaving it in her hands. "Andros is a regular at the Sandsea, and he doesn't make much of a secret of his feelings about Rozarria -- always wishing that he'd been able to go there instead of being 'exiled' to Rabanastre, as he puts it. Last night, he came into the bar, and I made sure to keep the drinks coming to his table. Finally, he let a tidbit drop: he did go to Rozarria first, seeking asylum, but he was asked to leave until things blew over. I didn't get him to say anything more after that, but the my guess is that he was asked to tip off the Archadians to the presence of Rozarrian sympathizers in Nabudis."

Al-Cid raised his eyebrows. "And how would he do that?"

"As Jasca mentioned, Andros is a trader," Lin replied. "He traveled between Nabudis and Archades on a regular basis, so he's there often enough to get a word in the right ear."

"Fascinating," Al-Cid muttered. "And who did he say asked him to do this?"

Lin and Jasca exchanged another glance. "Well," Lin finally replied, her words soft and slow. "He didn't. Not outright. But the implication was that it was Prince Tiesto."

Al-Cid's hand jerked involuntarily, and he almost spilled beer down his shirt. Setting his glass down, he stared at the girls. "Are you sure?"

"Of course not." Lin shrugged. "Like I said, he only implied it. Maybe he was trying to make himself seem grander, maybe he's lying so no one finds out he betrayed his own cause, maybe he didn't understand the source of the request properly. But that's what I know."

"Very well." Al-Cid leaned back in his seat. "Thank you for the information, unwelcome as it might be." His mind whirled with all the implications of this revelation -- it could mean a number of things, none of them good. "If I wished to meet with this Andros, how would I go about doing so?"

"I can try to arrange it with his valet, sir." Jasca dipped her head.

"Do." Al-Cid rose from his chair. "Two nights from now, if you please." He bowed to the women and kissed both their hands. "Now, what are your feelings on tonight's arrangements? Dare I hope for the pleasure of both of your company?"

Their eyes met yet again, and then they looked back at him, sharing a playful twinkle that made Al-Cid's stomach tighten in anticipation.

-x-

A sunbeam on her face woke her; Ashe first tried to ward it off, throwing a hand in front of her eyes, then turning away, pressing her face into the pillow. But her efforts were in vain, and with a groan she sat up, throwing off the coverlet, stumbling to the window to draw the curtains she had accidentally left open the night before. This task accomplished, she pulled on her robe and rang for her maid.

It had been a long week, stretching out nearly into infinity as the hours around the conference table had grown into days. Ashe had been drawn into meetings with Azlan, with Larsa, with what felt like a thousand different representatives of a thousand different factions in each nation. Basch had been ever-present, but ever-silent; Ashe longed for an hour alone with him, to hear his perspective on events in the Empire and to beg his counsel, but such a thing could never have been managed without raising undue suspicion. He seemed more distant in his presence than he had hundreds of miles away in Archades, wrapped in armor, the shadows of a helm hiding his true thoughts.

She wished, too, for a moment with Al-Cid, and a report on how his return to the Rozarrian fleet had been received. Obviously he had succeed in his mission of keeping his countrymen out of the final battle, but how had the feat been accomplished? Had his request been received gladly, or with reluctance? Propriety had stopped her from arranging a meeting thus far, but she wondered if she might find some way. The delegation was slated to leave tomorrow; perhaps she would send a discreet note at the first break in negotiations today.

The door cracked open, and her young maid Adella appeared, carrying Ashe's breakfast tray. She was Lucie's youngest daughter, in training to replace her mother someday; the girl was capable, though still too tentative at times. But Ashe hoped she would grow into the role. Adella set the tray down on the table and curtsied. "There is a gentleman here to see you, milady, once you are ready to receive him."

Ashe frowned. "I had not arranged any appointments this morning. Who is it?"

"No, milady, he said he was not expected, and that he is happy to wait, or return later if need be." Adella stepped back to the door. "It is the Rozarrian prince, Al-Cid Margrace."

 _Think of him, and he appears._ Ashe tapped her fingers against the windowsill. "Very well. Inform him that I will be along shortly. And ask if he has eaten; if not, prepare him a plate so we may breakfast together. And take my tray out into the parlor."

Adella curtsied. "As you wish, milady." She picked up the tray and exited the room without turning her back; once the door was closed, Ashe pulled off her robe and tossed it onto the bed. After dressing hastily and pulling a comb through her hair, she pushed through the double doors and into the sitting room where Al-Cid waited, standing by the window and contemplating the Bahamut's shell.

"Al-Cid?"

He turned, smiling. "Good morning. I apologize for the intrusion, but I felt we should have a moment to speak before I am recalled to Rozarria."

"I welcome your visit; I had, in fact, been planning to arrange a meeting with you myself." Ashe held out her hand; Al-Cid took it and pressed his lips to the back of her fingers in a courtly kiss. "I wished to share my thanks for keeping your people out of the final battle between Archadia and the Resistance."

Al-Cid swept his arm in front of his waist and dropped into an extravagant bow. "It was gladly done, as my contribution to the cause of peace throughout Ivalice."

Ashe gestured to the table where her breakfast tray rested, along with its twin that had already been delivered. "Please, sit with me. Have you yet taken breakfast?"

"Only a bit of coffee." Al-Cid lowered himself into the chair, picked up his napkin and snapped it into the air before laying it on his lap. "Therefore, the offer is greatly appreciated."

"You are more than welcome to it." Ashe sat across the table from him as he pulled the glasses off his face and folded them before sliding them into his shirt pocket, black embroidered with a pattern of dark green vines and leaves. With a start, Ashe noticed that Al-Cid's maid was not behind him, ready to take the spectacles, unfold his napkin, serve his breakfast. It was, in fact, the first time she had ever seen Al-Cid alone. "But where is your--" Ashe faltered, unsure of the most proper form of address to use for his companion.

"You refer to Martina, I assume." Al-Cid leaned forward on the table with a smile. "Martina is my most trusted aide; she travels as my maid because that role leads people to underestimate her. She can go the places I cannot, hear the tales no one will tell me."

Ashe pulled the lid off her tray, revealing a sausage, a soft-boiled egg, and a small pile of cut fruit. Then she looked up at Al-Cid. "So she is one of your... birds, you call them?"

"Not only one of them, but first among them, in every way." Al-Cid smiled, his eyes fond. "First to join my service, first in my trust, and first in my... heart."

Something about his pause before his last word caught Ashe's attention, and she set down her fork. "Your heart, or your bed?"

Al-Cid shrugged. "Both, of course, although more the former than the latter, in recent years. Yes, Your Majesty, it is true. I am here to confirm all your worst stereotypes of Rozarrians: we take too many lovers, drink too much wine, indulge in too much fine food, spend too much time contemplating the finer things in life and not enough time in industry or world conquest." He raised his cup of coffee in salute. "But better that, I say, than the stiff manners and destructive gossip of Archades. Give me the beauty and relaxed ambience of Ambervale or even Rosalis in comparison."

"Fair enough." Ashe returned to her meal. "Now, tell me of your return to the Rozarrian fleet. How did you convince them to turn back?"

"Getting into the fleet was easy enough. Stopping them, ah, that was the trick." Al-Cid tossed his head. "My suspicions that the skirmish above Nabradia was not the resistance but a small arm of the Rozarrian fleet, acting with the blessings of the War Pavilion, were proven quite correct. What I could not have guessed was that behind that fleet, and directing their movements, was the Eden, personal flagship of Tiesto Margrace."

Ashe looked up, a small thrill of alarm racing down her back. "The heir?"

Al-Cid responded with a grim nod. "None other. I have collected some intelligence, both here and at home, to suggest that he has long nurtured ambitions to expand our lands into Nabradia."

"And so he was willing to risk open war with Archadia, the defense of Dalmasca his excuse, as a means of taking Nabradia for himself?"

"Precisely." Al-Cid shook his head. "Both for its own sake and to expand the border with Archadia. I have received... indications, that he had been readying his forces to make an incursion for some time." He caught her eye with a wry smile. "Do not ask me to share details. State security, you understand."

Ashe nodded. "I am pleased enough that you feel free to share as much as you already have. So. If open war had been Tiesto's plan all along, how did you convince him to turn back?"

"By appealing to the War Pavilion and His Majesty the Emperor, the latter through his allies on the Board of Governors. Not everyone shares Tiesto's lust for conquest, but those opposed, including my father, would have supported him to save face. I gave them an out, and they took it, gladly. And Tiesto dares not move openly against the emperor or the Board -- such bold action might cost him the throne. He was not pleased at the cessation of hostilities, but he accepted them."

"Hmm." Ashe picked up her coffee and blew over the top, taking the moment in thought. The implications were not good; she wondered what nuances Al-Cid might be leaving out. "So the peace process is not welcome to all the players in Rozarria."

Al-Cid responded with a shrug. "When is peace ever the primary goal of everyone in the room? Surely not in Archadia, and I'd wager not in Dalmasca either. Watch your back, my lady."

Ashe chuckled, a rueful note creeping into the sound. "I have many years practice in doing so. But I thank you for the reminder."

After that, they ate in companionable silence, the only sound in her suite the clinking of knives and forks. Ashe found it soothing. She was not sure what it was about Al-Cid that presented such a calming influence; perhaps it was his utter lack of personal ambition, something both rare and refreshing in a prince.

After taking her last bite -- a bit of sausage, mopping up the last smear of yolk -- Ashe looked up again. Al-Cid looked back at her, the mug of coffee balanced between his delicate fingers. "Why did you come here?" she asked.

"To Rabanastre?" Al-Cid sipped from his cup, then set it down. "Because my Lord Father asked it of me." She raised an eyebrow at him, and he sat back in his seat, a lilt of amusement passing through his eyes. "You do not know the force of a request from Roderigio Margrace. I could not have refused had I wished it. But you are correct; coming here suited my purposes as well. Perhaps sometime soon I will be able to enlighten you as to some of that purpose."

Ashe left her empty mug aside. "I would prefer if you could swear to me that you have not installed one of your birds in my palace, among the serving girls or chambermaids."

He flushed, brows knitting, "My lady, you wound me. I would use neither you nor your staff ill. I do not deny that I have birds placed elsewhere in Rabanastre, but in the heart of your citadel? Never."

Taken aback, Ashe held up a hand in apology. "I am glad to hear it. Now, I must rephrase my earlier question. I mean to ask not after your presence in the city, but rather why you are here, now, in my chambers."

"Ahh." Al-Cid's face relaxed into a smile. "As to that, I felt it my duty to conclude our unfinished business from Balfonheim. First, to report to you on my return to the fleet, and share with you the resulting information. And second, to reiterate the invitation I offered to you that day." He stood, and Ashe followed suit; he stepped closer to her, near enough that she could smell the mingled scents of coffee and his cologne, took her hand, and bowed over it. "The palace at Ambervale is open to you, my lady."

Ashe found her fingers tightening in his gentle grip. "You understand, it is quite impossible for me to leave at this time."

"Of course." Al-Cid kissed the tips of her fingers, a courtly caress, delicate and proper, and yet somehow more intimate than his kiss of greeting had been. "An official request for a goodwill visit will be forthcoming from his Majesty the Emperor a few months hence, and I pray that will allow you to arrange a more convenient time. But I wanted to ensure that you received a personal invitation from me, as well."

"I appreciate your solicitude," Ashe replied, allowing her fingers to stay in his just a moment longer. Then she pulled back, and he let her go, bowing yet again. "When Roderigio's request arrives, I shall make the arrangements."

Al-Cid's answering smile filled the room with warmth, and tugged at Ashe's belly. He really was attractive, she realized. How had she not seen it before? "I could ask for nothing more." He pulled out his glasses and put them on with a flourish. "Thank you for breakfast, my lady. I shall see you in today's council."

He turned and left the room, and Ashe returned to her bedchamber, to make ready for one last day of talk and, perhaps, results. She dressed with care, allowing Adella to pull up her hair with pins, and then made her way to the throne room, where the final meeting of all parties was to be held. She was, as usual, last to arrive; Ondore had advised her to make the delegates wait, as a sign that she was in charge of the negotiations, and as she stepped through the door and a roomful of nobility and gentry came to their feet -- the Rozarrians on the right side of the table that had been installed near the dais, Larsa and his advisors on the left, Azelas and Ondore balancing the space between -- she was glad she had followed his suggestion.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the final day of our treaty talks." Ashe took her seat and the others followed suit. "Shall we take up the first topic of discussion?"

And so it began: the long day of talking and arguing and debate and posturing on both sides, although beneath the surface flowed an undercurrent of a real willingness to compromise, and as the afternoon wore on, she began to allow herself to hope that real, lasting agreements might come out of these talks. Finally, as the morning wore on into afternoon, she steeled herself, then spoke.

"We have discussed trade, sovereignty, agreed upon terms by which both Rozarrian and Archadian ships will be welcome to use Dalmascan airspace. But there is one sore tooth not yet prodded, and I would be remiss to allow negotiations to end without raising the issue." Ashe sat back in her chair. "I speak of the rule of Nabradia."

Silence fell in the room, thick and dark, as the enormity of the question rose in everyone's minds. Then Larsa stood, the scrape of his chair against the stone floor rattling the still air. He raised a hand to his breast, then bowed his head. "The attack on Nabradia was orchestrated by my brother Vayne Solidor and his confederate, Cidolphus Bunansa. Through their actions, Archadia bears responsibility for the utter devastation of Nabradia, the death of its lands and its people. Therefore, we shall make no claim, nor shall we gainsay any other." He sat again, head still down, and the silence was total, every eye in the room turned to him.

At last the hush was broken as Basch moved for the first time in an hour, stepping forward from his corner of the room to place his hand on the back of Larsa's chair. "Archadia has spoken. In this matter, we have no right to take a position."

Ashe turned to Azlan, who shrugged and looked at Ana. "Nor is it our place to say, Your Majesty," Ana said. "Despite the tragedy that befell it, Nabradia remains a sovereign nation that should define its own destiny."

"No descendants of the royal house remain," Azelas reminded them. "Queen Ashelia, a daughter by both marriage and their shared kinship to the Dynast-King, is as close as anyone comes. Who else, then, shall rule?"

"Who, indeed." Azlan arched an elegant brow. "Are we certain that no royal blood survives? And what of external loyalties? Is there a truly neutral party in all of Ivalice, considering Nabradia's placement along the only viable trade route into Rozarria from Dalmasca and Archades?"

"What if I told you there was another solution to that particular conundrum?" All eyes turned to Ashe, and she sat up straighter. "Edgar Bunansa, perhaps you will confirm for me that Draklor Laboratory has recently developed a skystone enabling airships to fly over Jagd."

Bunansa's mouth set into a tight line, but he nodded. "You speak truly. To date, only two flyable ships are outfitted with these stones: the Alexander and the Strahl. The Dreadnaught Leviathan carried one as well, but the stone was lost along with the ship. The manufacture of these skystones is neither cheap nor fast, but it could be done. We have already begun making more, to outfit key ships of the fleet, including the second Leviathan."

"Lord Azlan?" Ashe raised an eyebrow at Azlan. "Would you have interest in a selection of these stones? And if you had them, would your interest in Nabradia be lessened?"

For a brief second, Azlan's eyes flashed with naked greed. Then he composed himself and nodded. "Not removed entirely. But lessened, to be certain."

Larsa looked to Basch, then Bunansa; some secret communication passed among them, and then he nodded to Azlan. "It shall be arranged. Edgar will speak to the relevant people at Draklor to determine how many stones can be made available, and on what timeline." He glanced to Ashe, crossing his hands across the table. "You should be aware, your highness, that some of those stones were intended for Dalmascan ships, to aid in making reparations for the ships that were destroyed in our initial attack. If we divert any to the Rozarrian fleet, it will limit the number that we will be able to provide you at this time."

"Understood." Ashe brought her hand to her chest. "We are still rebuilding our ships, so it will be some time before we could make use of skystones regardless."

"If we can be of any assistance..." Azlan stood, and the other dignitaries followed suit. "Thank you, all of you, for a productive week. I shall be pleased to carry reports of our discussions to my Lord Father; he will have to sign the treaties, of course, but I have little doubt that they will be well received."

"I am glad to hear it," Larsa replied with a bow. "Prince Azlan, a pleasure. Princess Ana, Al-Cid." The lords and ladies stepped forward to make their farewells, some heartfelt, all polite; Ashe took a moment to step back and simply watch, and listen. As she did so, her gaze drifted rightward, to the two empty thrones at the front of the room, the places where Rasler and her father should have been. She turned her eyes back to the living, but still she saw only the dead, the weight of shades pressing down on her: Randal Azelas in place of Vossler; Basch wearing his dead brother's armor, and Edgar Bunansa... Even Larsa, with his dark hair and his fingers laced in front of him, put her in mind of Vayne, and she shivered.

With a deep breath she stepped forward; as she did so, her gaze fell on Al-Cid. He looked back at her with a warm nod, which she returned. He was here, she realized, here and solid and alive, not a ghost of himself or of anyone else. Her fingers curled in on themselves, and she found she wanted to touch him, feel the warmth of his hands in her own, but instead she turned to the man of rank, Azlan Margrace, and presented herself to him instead.

"I do hope all of you will return for the coronation, when it is scheduled. And your father and elder brother as well."

She offered her hand, and he took it with a bow. "We would be delighted. Perhaps you will come to Rozarria, when your schedule allows it. And now, we must away. It has been a pleasure, Your Majesty."

-x-

"To a successful visit." Azlan raised his glass of wine; Ana followed his lead, and then Al-Cid hesitantly joined in the toast. Azlan noted his tardiness and raised an eyebrow. "You disagree?"

"Ah, no." Al-Cid took a sip of the wine, its warmth leaving a trail down his throat and into his stomach, and he set the glass down. "The negotiations went as well as could be expected, and I'm sure Father will be content to sign the treaties. But I fear I was unable to answer your charge of discovering the true extent of Tiesto's involvement in Nabradia, and what Vayne might have known of it."

Ana tipped her head to the side. "I had the impression that you made good contacts in Rabanastre."

Al-Cid nodded. "My network is nicely expanded, yes, and I learned much in the way of rumors and innuendo. But of hard facts, I have almost none. I did get a name of a Rozarrian sympathizer of interest, a merchant named Andros, but he seems to be a slippery sort. Try as I might, I was unable to arrange a meeting with him or any of his staff."

"A good enough start for me." Azlan shrugged. "You have laid the groundwork; eventually your efforts will bear fruit. Prepare a report for me on what we have learned, and we will go from there. But nothing to Father or Tiesto of this yet; I want something more concrete first. Agreed?"

"Agreed," said Al-Cid, with more confidence than he felt.

-x-

The monthly council was breaking up for the afternoon, the pile of papers at Ashe's right hand growing as the members placed their petitions one atop the other, as they had at each meeting since her return to the palace. She looked at it with a sigh. "The work is never done, is it, Marcus?"

Marcus Thierry, council representative for Nabradia, responded with a rueful laugh. "Indeed not, Your Majesty." He rested his hand on the stack of papers. "I hear that you are receiving one of my countrymen today."

"Lord Refa, yes." Ashe tipped her head to the side. "I have summoned him several times, and at last he has accepted. I gather you do not see eye to eye with him in regards to... certain matters."

Thierry's answering smile held but a hint of mockery. "You could say that. Diplomacy prevents me from saying more; I would only ask that you speak with me before taking any of his commentary too much to heart."

"I will bear that in mind." Thierry bowed to her, and she nodded in return. "Thank you, Lord Thierry."

"Enjoy your trip to Rozarria. It is a place of great beauty." As Thierry turned to go, Ashe picked up the stack of papers and began reading the sheet on the top -- it looked to be something about a disagreement regarding property lines.

"Your Majesty?" Ashe looked up from her reading to regard the last two men remaining in the room: Randal Azelas and Halim Ondore, seated across from each other at the opposite end of the table. It was Azelas who had spoken, and Azelas who slowly rose from his chair. "I would speak with you on something before you meet with Refa."

Ashe stood as well. "Then speak."

Azelas cast a quick glance to Ondore, who frowned and shook his head; Azelas narrowed his eyes in return, then looked back to Ashe. "It is in regards to the succession."

Ashe's hand tightened around the sheaf of papers; the temptation to throw them across the room at Azelas's head was difficult to resist. Had she held something heavier, that would have done actual damage rather than simply making a mess, she might not have succeeded. "Have I not made it clear enough? This issue is not currently under discussion."

Azelas took a step back, eyebrows raised. "But you must realize that people are concerned."

"How could I not, when half of these petitions will likely include one suggestion or another regarding someone's son, or widowed brother, or half-nephew, or family connection in Archades or Rozarria?" Ashe shook the sheets in her hand, their rustle . "This entire court is little more than a nest of would-be matchmakers, all looking to shackle me to the king who would best advance their own interests."

"Be that as it may, you will not be able to avoid the question forever." Azelas moved around behind his chair, letting his fingertips rest against its high wooden back. "And there is talk that your trip to Ambervale is meant to signal an answer to it."

Ashe sank back into her chair, letting the documents fall to the table with a soft thump. "I have been to Archades and Balfonheim several times now, and tongues did not wag. How is this trip any different?"

"No different." Ondore stood then, and turned a stern glare on Azelas. "And that is the message, do we agree? The queen pays a goodwill visit to her neighbors to the west, just as she has visited with her neighbors to the north, no more."

Azelas stared back, a scowl on his face, but then he nodded. "You are right, of course." He turned to Ashe and bowed stiffly. "We will meet at our usual time next week?"

"Indeed." Ashe leaned forward, her voice and posture softening. "Randal. I understand your concerns for appearances as well as Dalmasca's future. But you must trust me to know my own path. That was the mistake Vossler made; I beg you not to do the same. "

"I promise, my lady." Azelas favored her with a small, sad smile. "I have no desire to repeat the errors of my brother. You can depend on me."

"Thank you." Ashe stood, and held out her hand to Azelas; he took it and bowed. "For today, may I depend on you to make haste to the Aerodrome?"

Azelas straightened, a quick smile on his lips. "Ah, is the new ship arriving today?"

Ashe nodded. "The ship, and the promised skystones. Two more for our fleet, three to be presented to Roderigio, in fulfillment of the treaties we signed right after the war. This, too, is a purpose of my trip to Ambervale; we would do well to remind the rest of the council of it."

"I hear and obey, my queen." Azelas exchanged a nod with Ondore, then left them alone.

Ashe turned to Ondore. "If you would join me? I do not anticipate this interview with Refa to be pleasant."

"I await his excuse for avoiding you thus far." Ondore opened the door for Ashe and followed her into the hallway. "Is that ship the new Leviathan?"

"One and the same," Ashe replied. "Larsa offered it on my last visit, as our new flagship; it will do for now, until we can sufficiently rebuild the shipyards at Nalbina." She pulled open the door that led into the sitting room outside her study. Rastafan Refa awaited them there, resting on the sofa, a book in his hand; as the door opened, he snapped the volume shut and stood, unfolding his long frame before bending into a bow.

"Your Majesty."

"Thank you for coming." Ashe reached forward with her hand, and Refa took it as he straightened, then nodded to Ondore. "I trust your trip was uneventful?"

"Yes, thanks to the patrols Your Majesty has started running over the Estersand," Refa replied, returning to the couch as Ashe and Ondore took nearby chairs. "My apologies, however, for the delay in responding to your summons. As you might imagine, there has been much to do in Nabradia."

"Indeed." Ashe lifted her eyes to the maid who had entered the room with a pitcher of tea and indicated that the girl should pour. "How fare things in the new capital?"

"Progress goes slowly," Refa responded with a small frown. "The supplies for rebuilding promised by Archades are slow to arrive and often substandard, and there are not enough Moogles to do the work. I must admit, Your Majesty, that I was a bit surprised that you did not wring a stricter timeline out of the young emperor."

Ashe glanced swiftly at Ondore, who responded only with a brief headshake. "Emperor Larsa and I have been in regular communication on many matters, including his shipments to Nabradia. It is difficult, however, when no one can say whether I have authority to speak for Nabradia." She lifted her glass and took a quick sip, giving the thought time to settle in Refa's mind. Then she sat back in her chair and continued. "My coronation is but a month away, and I still do not know whether I am to be crowned queen of Dalmasca alone, or of Dalmasca and Nabradia both. No one else has stepped up to represent their country. What say you, Refa? You are known to have connections among the men who agitate for a free Nabradia. Would they stand against me?"

Refa did not reply right away. He lifted his glass, sniffed at the ice, took a drink. "Refreshing," he murmured. Then he peered at her, over its edge. "There are those who say that your claim on the throne is spurious. That claims by marriage should not be honored in the absence of children, even..." His voice dropped into a lower register, almost a whisper, and Ashe had to lean close to hear his next words. "Forgive me, Majesty, but you should know what poison might fall in men's ears. There are even those who suggest that the marriage should be nullified, as we have no proof that it was ever consummated."

Ashe reeled back as though she had been slapped, and Ondore rose half out of his seat. "Outrageous!" he snapped. "Who is speaking such treason?!"

She wanted to jump to her feet, demand a list of names, and she was of more than half a mind to accuse Refa of being the rumor's source; why bring it up, otherwise? But instead she took a deep breath and rested a calming hand on Ondore's arm. "Uncle, please." Ondore looked at her, then settled down with a nod, the spot of high color already fading from his cheek. Ashe turned her attention back to Refa. "The claim is ludicrous, of course, beneath our notice. If we must needs refute it, there are several long-serving and trustworthy members of the household staff well-positioned to do so." She shook her head. "But regardless, I would make the same offer I tendered to those who doubted my right to sit Dalmasca's throne: let them advance their legitimate candidate, and we will examine the fitness of their claim. I have no desire to annex Nabradia, if it can survive as a sovereign nation. I am no Gramis, nor a Roderigio, ready to absorb my neighbors upon the flimsiest of grounds."

Refa bowed his head. "Of course, Your Majesty. I will present your challenge to those Nabradian houses that survived the nethicite disaster. I doubt, however, that any will have a claim to stand against the wife of Prince Rasler."

"Good." Ashe looked hard at him. "I'm glad we understand one another."

"As am I." Refa drained his glass, then stood with a bow. "One other word of caution before I go. The strength of your claim to Nabradia lays in your marriage to its last living prince. If you were to wed another, that claim might be... weakened."

Ashe tapped her own glass. "You may be assured that I have no immediate interest in acquiring a new husband. I might point out, however, that it might prove difficult for an unwed queen to produce an heir."

"It is a difficulty." Refa acknowledged her with a nod. "But perhaps not an insurmountable one." He bowed again. "Thank you for the tea, Your Majesty, and the most informative conversation." He tilted his head to Ondore. "Marquis." Ondore inclined his chin in return, openly glaring at Refa's back as he left the room. Only after the door had snicked shut did Ondore look at Ashe again, eyes sparking with anger.

"Such insolence! You should not allow him, or anyone, to speak to you in such a manner."

"And if I did not?" Ashe looked straight back at him. "If I clapped men in irons for the sin of imprudent speech? I would but legitimize the rumors and give them more life." She shook her head. "Better to let them spread, then die a natural death when the fire proves to have no fuel."

Ondore's expression remained skeptical, but he nodded. "As you will." He stood. "Curious timing, for him to bring this up so near your departure for Rozarria. A warning, perhaps, that you ought not to accept any proposal of alliance that the Rozarrians might present. The Nabradian houses might be more amenable to dropping their claims if one of their own were to gain your hand."

"Likely enough." Ashe traced her finger over the rim of her glass. "Though Thierry has made it clear that other elements in Nabradia would welcome closer ties with the Rozarrian royal family. His desires and Refa's may not be reconcilable." She looked up at Ondore with a half-smile. "But it is too soon to commit myself to any course, regardless of its direction. As I affirmed to Azelas earlier, I will accept no proposal of marriage before I am crowned queen, and perhaps not even after."

"Indeed." Ondore bowed to her, returning the smile. "I must return to Bhujerba. Have a good trip, my queen. If you require counsel or assistance, do not hesitate to contact me."

Ashe inclined her head to him as he left in a swirl of dark blue coat, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

-x-

Spring was returning to Ambervale, and so was Al-Cid; after a long winter of traveling throughout Ivalice, meeting with birds in every city and every nation, he was finally freed to return home. A tour of the outer provinces of Rozarria; a month in Balfonheim and another in Archades, with side trips to the smaller cities that dotted the empire to the north; brief visits to Bur-Omisace and Rabanastre; even a sojourn in Heiorin, the outpost on the eastern border of the Salikawood that the people of Nabradia hoped to expand into a new capital city. Al-Cid had whiled away a pleasant afternoon there, chatting with the proprietor of the first tavern to set up shop on its outskirts, learning about the political situation first-hand. Many tidbits came to him there, but one subject continued to elude him: the secrets of Victor Andros.

"Andros?" The pretty barmaid had shaken her head. "I haven't seen him here, ever. He used to be a regular at the tavern I worked at in Nalbina, does business with Archades and Rosalis, but he's been based in Rabanastre since the war. I guess he hardly ever leaves."

Al-Cid had leaned his elbow on the bar, close enough to brush against her shoulder. "And yet somehow he always manages to avoid me in that fair city."

The girl shrugged. "Don't know what else to tell you. Have another drink?"

He nodded and favored her with a warm smile. "Whatever you recommend." She'd filled his glass, and he'd turned the conversation to more banal topics, but he was left disquieted. It was as though Andros has disappeared from the face of the earth, or at least from anywhere he was likely to leave a trail for Al-Cid to follow.

It was not Andros that drew Al-Cid back to Ambervale, however, but another piece of intelligence -- Roderigio had finally extended his official invitation to Queen Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca, and the queen had accepted. When word of her impending visit reached his ears, he had cut short a planned stay in Bhujerba, and now he flew homeward, his hands gripping the helm of the Fenrir. Normally Al-Cid employed a pilot, preferring to relax as he traveled, but today he felt a need to be in control of his own journey. The Emperor of Rozarria would need assistance to prepare for the Queen's visit, and Al-Cid was prepared to volunteer his services in any way necessary. He thought back on his father's reasons for ordering him to Dalmasca after the war. Although he had not managed to take his relationship with Ashe beyond friendship, he had, without a doubt, solidified their connection. Perhaps this visit would bring opportunities to grow that connection further.

His pulse quickened, and he opened the throttle on his ship a touch more in response, the shores of Rozarria coming into view. A plan had been forming in the back of his mind over these past few months, and now was the time to set all the wheels in motion.

-x-

"Majesty?" A round-faced footman scurried in through the open doorway to Ashe's quarters, and she looked up from the latest draft of the new trade agreements that she was readying for Rozarria. She set them aside with a nod. "Lady Penelo and Lord Vaan to see you."

Ashe allowed herself a polite smile. "See them in." The footman snapped his heels together and bowed; as he turned away, Ashe's smile faded. She enjoyed seeing her former companions, truly. But their worlds, so different before the quest to free Dalmasca had brought them together, never gelled quite right. And perhaps she envied them their freedom, a little.

"Do they really have to call us that?" Vaan's too-loud whisper came echoing from the hallway and brought Ashe's smile back to her face, more genuine this time. She had granted both of them courtesy titles, in recognition of their service to their homeland and their queen; she would have given them far more, but they had refused positions at the palace as well as monetary compensation. Still, she was determined to secure their futures in one way or another. She made a note to call a meeting with Migelo to discuss the issue sometime before the coronation; perhaps he would have an idea of what they might accept.

"Of course they do, don't be-- Ashe!" Penelo appeared, and she turned to run through the doorway, beaming. "How are you?"

Ashe stepped around from the back of the desk and embraced Penelo, arms circling around the girl's shoulders. "Well. I thank you." She stepped away from her, then nodded to Vaan. "Hello, Vaan. What brings you here?" Penelo visited on regular basis, for lunch and gossip, but sightings of Vaan were less common; he came by primarily when she had a mission for them. Eyes and ears that could freely travel the byways of Lowtown were a precious resource.

"We have news." Vaan exchanged a grinning glance with Penelo. "See, this morning, we went to the hanger where we've been keeping the Strahl. I like to check on her every few days, even though we have her mostly fixed up now. So anyway--"

"The Strahl was gone!" Penelo interrupted, bouncing on her toes.

"Gone?" Ashe repeated the word blankly, looking back and forth between her guests. "Are you telling me..."

Vaan nodded and puffed out his chest, ever so slightly. "There was a note. From Balthier! He and Fran found a treasure out in the Purvama, and they've invited us to join them in hunting for it."

"A treasure hunt!" Penelo's smile was wide enough to crack her cheeks. "But you realize what this means? Fran and Balthier are alive! They made it out, just like we thought."

"Yes." Ashe felt the breath fluttering in her chest, her heart skipping a beat. "I never doubted it."

"Me either." Vaan spoke the words so casually that Ashe could not doubt his confidence. "Anyway, he left me directions, and instructions for picking up another ship. And the note also said to give you this." He held out a small pouch; Ashe's fingers closed around the worn leather. She shook it, felt something small and hard rattling inside, and knew what it was.

"My thanks." Ashe nodded at them, keeping her breathing as even as she could, even though she was certain her face had flushed.

"Any time." Vaan took an awkward step forward, then hugged her. "We'll be back in time for the coronation, promise."

"I am glad to hear it." Ashe inclined her head. "Good hunting, and give them both my best."

"Will do!" Penelo gave Ashe another hug, then skipped out the door with a wave; Vaan held Ashe's eyes for a moment, expression thoughtful, and then he followed. The door closed behind the pair and Ashe could, at last, allow her legs to give way, knees buckling as she crumbled into the chair behind her.

"Balthier," she whispered to herself as she dropped her face into her hands, letting the pouch fall onto the floor to lay flat at her feet. She had not dared speak his name aloud since the last day she'd seen him. Now it was a mantra, a talisman, a prayer. "Balthier!" She had believed, had given herself no choice but to believe. But to hold the evidence in her hand, to hear it corroborated by the reports of Penelo and Vaan both, made it real. He lived. He lived.

A wave passed through her, a trembling that wracked her entire body, and she pressed her fingers into her eyes, staying the tears of relief, a year of pent-up fear and worry. Then the moment passed and, her composure regained, Ashe picked up the pouch in one hand and the note in the other. She walked out on the balcony to regard the wreck of the Bahamut. It was safe to look straight at it now, to admire the lake that surrounded it and appreciate the joy of the people of Rabanastre as they walked or flew around it. The sky above was a brilliant blue, the streaks of white cloud only adding to its perfection. It was a glorious day.

Ashe opened the pouch, upending it to let Rasler's ring drop into her palm. Its weight in her hand was satisfying, yet strange as well, after all this time. She closed her fingers around it, then read the note again. "Something more valuable." Ashe wondered what it could possibly be, to compare to a priceless heirloom of House Heios. Flipping the heavy parchment over, she looked at the back, and smiled. Something more valuable... this note, written in this hand, proved more valuable to her than she could ever have imagined.

The thought had caused her to smile, but it was also disquieting. Ashe looked up from the note and her smile melted into a frown. How inappropriate this all was! She tightened her fingers around the ring, tried to see Rasler's face, but he seemed so far away. Whereas Balthier--

"This is pointless!" Ashe stood up straight and walked off the balcony and back into her suite. She had a diplomatic mission to prepare; no time to waste in nostalgia for the dead or the impossible. Once inside, she examined the note one more time, running her finger along the edge of the slightly worn parchment. Why had he not delivered the ring himself? She opened the top drawer of her desk and, after sliding the note inside, closed and locked it. Then she held up the ring again and, with a deep breath, slid it back on the middle finger of her right hand, where it had lived for two years. Tightening her hand into the fist, she contemplated the two men who had worn it.

With a shake of her head, she let the thought go, and rang for her porter. She would be leaving for Rozarria in but a few days; it would not do to be less than perfectly outfitted for her first diplomatic mission as Queen. Time to peruse the schedule, and decide which of her household to bring along.


	3. Chapter 3

A bell was buzzing, somewhere. The sound of it penetrated the warm fog of Al-Cid's sleep, drawing him to the surface; he tried to banish it by burrowing deeper into the blankets and Anissa's arms, but it would not be denied, and with a groan he opened his eyes. The buzzing was the doorbell at his quarters, so with reluctance, he let Anissa go, and sat up. "Enter!" he called out. The ringing stopped, and after a second of blessed silence, he heard the door to his bedchamber open, then the rustling as his bed curtains were pushed aside to reveal Martina, already dressed for the day. "What is so urgent as to interrupt my sleep?"

"Your orders, sir." Martina did not smile, but Al-Cid could here a prickling of amusement in her voice. "You did tell me to alert you when Queen Ashelia's ship was within visual range, yes?"

"Yes." Al-Cid frowned. "But she was not expected until the afternoon."

Martina shrugged. "The Aerodrome has sighted the Leviathan. They estimate it will arrive in within the hour. And it is almost noon, my lord."

Al-Cid twisted to the side, moved his bed curtain aside to look at the clock. "So it is." He sighed, pushing the hair back from his face. "Very well, I will prepare to receive her. Send in my valet. Perhaps I'll wear the blue today."

"It shall be done. Breakfast?"

"Something light. And coffee. For you, my sweet?" Al-Cid directed this last to Anissa, who still lay curled under the blankets, blinking sleepily up at him. She responded with a nod, and he smoothed the light brown hair over her brow while looking back to Martina. "For two, Martina, thank you."

Martina exited, and Al-Cid jumped out of bed, his feet sliding into his slippers. The day he had been eagerly awaiting for months had finally arrived; it would never do to keep the lady waiting.

-x-

Ashe stepped off the gangway of the Leviathan and onto Rozarrian soil for the first time in over ten years. She had a vague memory of accompanying her eldest brother, Atredus, on a diplomatic mission to Rosalis, negotiating some treaty or another, but she had barely left the city. For this trip, she had selected a small group to attend her -- the servant girl Adella to act as lady-in-waiting and two maids to assist, a porter to handle their luggage and manage her suite, and three guards hand-picked by Captain Roland. It was these three men who flanked her now as she walked through the Aerodrome -- carved of marble, she noted, and decorated with fine tapestries -- and approached her host: Al-Cid, who stood just outside the doorway in a well-manicured courtyard. He was alone, but for the ever-present Martina who stood behind his left shoulder. She had been right, she decided, to position this as a personal visit rather than an affair of state. Certainly, it would be more relaxing this way.

Al-Cid bowed to her as she approached, then swept his arms wide. "Welcome to Ambervale, seat of House Margrace, the longest-ruling royal house in all Ivalice."

"Hmm." Ashe tilted her head. "I had thought that more than a hundred and fifty years passed between the first Margrace dynasty and the second."

"Ah yes, the dark times. Or the golden age of Rozarrian expansion, depending on whom you ask." Al-Cid peered down at her over his glasses, and Ashe found herself returning his wry smile. "It is a bit of a long story, but I will tell it as we walk, if you do not mind."

"Please." Ashe followed Al-Cid onto the path; he offered her an elbow, and after a moment's hesitation, she took it, her fingers curling around his silk-clad arm.

"So I presume you know that, like Archadia, Rozarria is a blend of republic and monarchy?" Al-Cid glanced over at Ashe, who nodded her understanding. "Each region elects a governor, who oversees that region and serves on the Board of Governors, an advisory council to the emperor, who in matters pertaining to all of Rozarria is a supreme monarch, much like yourself. The title of emperor is, as you might expect, largely hereditary, but the Board of Governors must approve the next monarch, both when he is named heir, and again before he can ascend to the throne. Therefore, there have been times when the first son of the previous emperor did not become emperor himself. You see?"

"I do."

"In most cases, when the first son is rejected, there is a younger son who will do, and so the Margrace name has continued. But in the year 504, circumstances were rather different." Al-Cid stopped at the end of the pathway, nodded toward a marble fountain in the distance. "That is Picador's Fountain, designed by the first emperor of that name, who was also the last. Lovely, yes?"

Ashe considered the fountain; it was of a pink marble, shot through with deep red, and the water flowed along graceful paths embellished with carved flowers: roses, poppies, daisies. "Indeed. I have rarely seen its like."

"A marvel of Rozarrian craftsmanship." Al-Cid snorted, and led her away from it. "Unfortunately, that fountain was also his greatest accomplishment. Picador Margrace was a fool and a coward, and he nearly drove the empire into ruin. When he passed, in 503 Old Valendian, a bitter struggle broke out on the Board of Governors, and also within House Margrace itself. Picador had chosen his first-born to succeed him, but he was even duller than his father. One faction of the Board would have placed him on the throne as little more than a puppet, using his unfitness to rule as an excuse to weaken the monarchy going forward. Another group supported Picador's second son, Azlan, who would have been a good and fair emperor, but he was also a peaceful man who did not believe in encroaching on his neighbors' borders. And so a third faction emerged, coalescing around a distant Margrace relative, El-Reza Almador, third or fourth cousin to Pinador and one of the most respected generals in the War Pavilion. It was a hard year, with tensions near civil war, not to mention the assassinations -- including that of Azlan, an ugly tale that you are like to hear at least once on this visit. Ultimately, the death of Azlan Margrace was the tipping point, and El-Reza was crowned emperor at the start of 504 Old Valendian. It was under the leadership of House Almador that Rozarria expanded to its present borders.

"And so the remnants of House Margrace retreated here, to Ambervale. After some time to lick their wounds, Azlan's own sons vowed to return to power someday, and so they scattered throughout the empire, ingratiating themselves with the governors, and in some cases becoming governors themselves. When the last Almador emperor died without issue in the year 665, House Margrace was ready and willing to step back into its rightful place. My grandfather, named Azlan in honor of the man who should have been emperor, was accepted by the board of governors, and thus was House Margrace restored to rule. My grandfather's first action was to declare House Almador a branch of House Margrace." Ashe snorted softly, and Al-Cid smiled down at her. "A bit ridiculous, yes? But royal pride is rarely afraid to look ridiculous. Well. That is the story, and now you know how House Margrace has had two dynasties and yet claims unbroken rule. And with that, here we are." He swept his hand to the side while executing a pivot on his right heel. "The Royal Palace at Ambervale."

Ashe had promised herself that she would not allow herself to be too impressed by the grandeur of the Margrace seat, but it was difficult. The palace sat near the top of the valley, and the vista before her was genuinely stunning: manicured gardens, trees and bushes laid in neat rows, courtyards graced with fountains carved from white and green and pink marble, and, in the distance, the mountains that marked the other side of the valley, covered with dark green trees and beribboned with green-gold fields. Through a break in the peaks, Ashe thought she could see the ocean, twinkling in the distance. "It is lovely," she murmured.

"And this is but the first taste of what the valley has to offer, my lady." Al-Cid swept into a deep bow, and as he rose, he took her fingers in his hand, then raised them to his lips. They brushed her knuckles, soft and warm; he lifted his eyes to meet hers. "I look forward to sharing the rest of its wonders with you." Still looking at her, he kissed her hand again, and the glint of his eyes, locked on her own, somehow made the gesture more intimate than it had been in the past -- at Bur-Omisace, in Rabanastre -- and Ashe found herself her awareness of his touch heightened. She bowed her head in acknowledgement, then pulled her hand free.

"I thank you for the invitation," she replied. "But for now, I have had a long journey, and I would appreciate some time to rest in my quarters before dinner."

"Of course, of course." Al-Cid snapped his fingers, and his aide was at his side. "Martina, please show Her Majesty to the Cor de la Rosa."

Martina bowed to him, then beckoned Ashe to her side. "Follow me, my lady," she said, and Ashe suddenly realized that she had never heard Martina speak before. It bothered her in some way she could not pinpoint.

"Thank you, Martina," she said, allowing the discomfort to fall away. This was her opportunity to better know the Rozarrian people, and she should take proper advantage. She turned to go, then looked back over her shoulder at Al-Cid. "And thank you for the tour, and the family history."

"It is my pleasure. Entirely." He bowed yet again. "I await the hour of dinner with impatience and anticipation."

Ashe chuckled under her breath as she followed Martina through the palace doors. The marble halls of Palace Ambervale were sumptuously decorated -- stained glass, fine-timbered ceilings, hand-carved details and statues in every corner -- but Ashe had spent most of her life in well-appointed circumstances, and so she found the interior less impressive than the grounds. For one moment, she allowed herself to remember the half-wild green walkways of the gardens around the palace at Nabudis. But their beauty had been so different; it was no use comparing them.

Martina led her down the corridor, turning right, then left, then left again, and stopped in front of a half-open door. "This is the suite we have prepared, Your Majesty. But please, if it is in any way unacceptable, just ask and we will find you another. There are many free rooms in the palace."

Ashe stepped through the doorway and into a fantasy world. The room was decorated in greens and pinks, a firepit surrounded by richly-embroidered couches in the center. The walls were hung with deep pink silks, and through the doorway into the sleeping chamber, she could see a bed draped in the same. A balcony opened off the sitting room; it looked into a large central courtyard, with the mountains visible over the roof of the palace. "This will be more than adequate, thank you." She turned around to Martina. "What was the name Al-Cid used for the suite?"

"Cor de la Rosa." Martina nodded. She spoke with a heavy accent, Ashe noted, thicker than Al-Cid's, though clearly she was still fluent in Valendian. "It means 'Heart of the Rose' in our language. Named for its decor, and for its location near the center of the palace. Al-Cid specifically requested it for you. Your retinue will be housed in rooms nearby. Is there anything you require at this time?"

"No thank you, I believe I will just rest here until dinner. Thank you, Martina."

Martina curtsied, then left the room, shutting the door behind her.

-x-

When Ashe awoke from her nap, the sun was low in the sky and a cool breeze came through the windows she had left open. She sat up in the bed, stretching her arms, and yawned. For a strange bed, the large feather mattress was quite comfortable; she ran her hand over the silken coverlet and noted the fine workings of the weave. It seemed that everything in the palace at Ambervale was intricately crafted. Swinging her legs to the floor, she stood, then changed into the dress that her maid had set aside for her. It was the second-best she had brought, a pale blue frock, simple but made of fine material, leaving her midriff bare in the Dalmascan fashion. After a moment of thought, she put on both rings along with the silver chain that matched the neckline of the dress. Then she stepped into her shoes and out onto the balcony that overlooked both the courtyard and the mountains. Like most every other courtyard she had seen in Rozarria, a fountain stood in the middle, this one a circular plinth made of a deep gray granite. The water gushed up from the center, the apex of the geyser catching the late afternoon sunlight and glittering pale gold.

"M'lady?" Ashe turned to see Adella standing in the exact center of the doorway, hands primly behind her back. "You have a visitor before dinner? Prince Al-Cid here to see you?"

"Send him in."

The girl nodded, then disappeared, almost tripping over her feet in her haste to be gone. Ashe sighed, wishing for Lucie and her steady presence. But the palace would have been hard put to run without its true mistress. And Adella would have to learn to adjust to new situations sooner rather than later. A few minutes later, the maid was replaced by Al-Cid, who had changed into a blinding-white shirt, its buttons graced with purple gems, his metal collar set with stones to match, his sleeves ruffled. He held a wineglass in each hand, and he offered one to her with a smile. "I trust the quarters are to your liking?"

Ashe took the glass. "It is lovely. Thank you." She took a sip of the wine; it was a white, surely Rozarrian in origin, light and refreshing. He took a place next to her, and they turned to face the mountains. Together they stood, leaning on the wall in comfortable silence, sipping their wine and watching the sunset -- it slid behind the mountains, turning them a deep purple while the clouds in the southern sky changed first to pink, then orange, and finally into a brilliant red.

"Beautiful." Ashe tilted her head back to look into the caldera of the darkening sky, a few of the brightest stars already in evidence. "Are you graced with such sunsets every night?"

"It is the mountains. They refract the light and make the colors ever more brilliant." Al-Cid stepped closer to her. "But tonight is filled with a sight far more stunning." He lifted his hand, settling it into the small of her back, warm against her bare skin; it fit perfectly there, but still Ashe pulled away.

"This is how you treat with your honored guests?" she asked, turning to look at him with a frown.

Al-Cid stepped in the opposite direction, taking a smooth bow as he did so. "Pardon my forwardness." He spread his hands and dipped his head. "It is a weak link in my character, I fear: poor self control in the presence of great beauty."

"I am not one of your barmaids, to be charmed into giving up her secrets," Ashe retorted, crossing her arms. "You forget your place, sir. And mine."

Al-Cid lifted an eyebrow. "Do you really think that I have taken no lovers among the higher echelons?"

"I should be shocked if you had not." Ashe pursed her lips as she considered her next words. "But you are not truly happy among them, are you? You prefer your birds, snug in their small nests, dazzled by your wealth and power. They see a prince and potential heir, not an extra with an inconvenient pedigree."

Infuriatingly, Al-Cid only smiled, showing no evidence of discomfort whatsoever at her jab. "You are not the first to disparage my birth circumstances, nor the last, certainly not in the harshest of terms. Enough years of insult, and one learns to shrug it off. Still, you are correct -- I do often choose the company of the baseborn. They have more freedom, more spirit, more willingness to look past the poor timing of my birth. Especially when a heavy purse is involved." He shrugged. "But I think perhaps you have more in common with them than with the women of the court. You have known true hardship, deprivations of body and spirit. And you, too, have borne the questions of those who see you stepping outside your rightful place. You have more in common with my birds, and with me. But there is nothing else common about you." He set his glass down on the balcony wall and bowed again. "Please, my lady, forgive me. I have presumed upon the circumstances of our former acquaintance."

After a deep breath, and another draught of her wine, Ashe met his eyes with a nod. "I do forgive your transgression," she replied. "In truth, I have been known to step below my station when the pedestal becomes inconvenient, and especially in the presence of old friends."

Al-Cid's smile broadened. "I hope some day I may receive the honor of being included in such august company. Now, may I accompany you to dinner?"

"I should be most gratified, if you would show me the way." Ashe hesitated a moment, then took the proffered arm, the crook of his elbow already familiar to her fingers.

-x-

Al-Cid led Ashe down the hallway, relishing the touch of her hand almost as much as the prospect of walking into the palace dining room together. Roderigio would be there, as would Tiesto and Azlan; each man would draw his own conclusions regarding the presence of the Queen of Dalmasca on Al-Cid's arm, and though each of these would contain a piece of the truth, none would know the whole. It made for a pleasing state of affairs. He always preferred to be the man with the most information.

The doors to the grand hall stood open, a guard at each side. Sounds of soft conversation and the clinking of glasses wafted out and into the passageway. Al-Cid nodded to the guards as he approached, then cast a glance down to Ashe.

She looked back, her answering smile cooling, and pulled her hand free of his arm. "I thank you for your escort. If you would introduce me to your Lord Father?"

Al-Cid made a small bow. Disappointing, but not surprising -- of course Ashe would want to make her first grand entrance alone. But never mind; simply walking in behind her would still create the commotion he desired. "Of course, my lady. After you."

Ashe inclined her head, then passed through the doorway, her chin held high. Al-Cid clasped his hands behind his back and followed, two steps behind her. The room fell near-silent as they entered, every eye on the young queen as she passed between the half-dozen smaller tables on her approach to the low dais at the front of the room, to the table where the pre-eminent members of the Margrace family sat. Ashe approached, and her gaze settled on the man at the head of the table.

Al-Cid took a quick step to reach Ashe's side and beat her to the dais, then noted the expressions before him: Roderigio seemed warily pleased, Tiesto looked stunned, and Azlan -- damn him -- sported a smug smile. He held out a hand toward Ashe; she took it long enough to allow him to raise her up to the dais. "My Lord Father, may I present to you Her Royal Majesty, Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca, Queen Ashe. My lady: His Royal Majesty, Roderigio Margrace, the Emperor of Rozarria, fifth of that name."

Roderigio stood, and the rest of the hall followed suit, the rustle and crinkle of fabric the only sound in the room. She held out her hand; he took it and bestowed a swift kiss upon it. "Welcome to Ambervale."

Ashe lifted her free hand to her chest and bowed her head. "Thank you, Your Majesty, for your gracious hospitality."

The emperor released her hand and copied her gesture. "It is well to see you again, my lady. Please, take this empty seat by me. " A servant pulled out an open chair at Rogeridio's right hand, and Ashe settled down into it as Roderigio continued talking. "I believe I last saw you as a girl, when I came to Rabanastre to negotiate for your brother Gaspar's marriage to one of my daughters."

"I remember that visit; I was just thinking, earlier today, about accompanying my eldest brother to Rosalis for the opening of those talks." Ashe smiled, tinged with sadness. "I regret that circumstances did not allow our families to come to an alliance at that time."

Roderigio shrugged as he sat. "I hold it not against Raminas; losing so many sons to plague in such short order would cause the most stalwart of men to pull back from offers of marriage outside the kingdom." He paused, then looked over his shoulder at Al-Cid, whose continuing presence he just then seemed to notice. "Thank you, Al-Cid; you are dismissed."

Al-Cid bowed to his father, then to Ashe. "My lady, perhaps you will join me on a ride tomorrow morning?"

Ashe returned the bow as a nod. "It would be my pleasure. Make the arrangements with my porter, if you will."

"I shall. My lord." He turned smartly and made for his usual place at these affairs, set at the first table to the right of the dais. Ana awaited him there, and he noted that the chair was already pulled out, a roll on his plate, and his glass filled with the light sparkling white wine he preferred. He sat, took a sip, then glanced at Ana.

"You move swiftly, brother." She raised an eyebrow as she took a grape from the bowl at the center of the table, then popped it in her mouth. "I can only presume you have a plan."

"Perhaps." Al-Cid tore his roll in half and dipped it in the dish of oil next to his glass. "Perhaps you can tell me first of Father's."

Ana lowered her voice and brought her mouth near Al-Cid's ear. "Two options are under discussion. First there is Tiesto's second son Curzin. He is but a year older than Ashe and already too much like his father in terms of ambition. Tiesto wants Pieto for the throne after him, so having Curzin safely out of the way in Rabanastre suits him as well."

Al-Cid nodded. "Sensible. And the other?"

"Enrizio."

"Truly?" Ana nodded, and Al-Cid leaned back in his chair. "Very interesting choice." He took a bite of bread and chewed it slowly, taking the time to think. A grandson and an acknowledged bastard, both well-regarded, both highly inconvenient to their respective fathers. Both marriages would provide advantageous to Roderigio, while being innocuous enough personages that Archadia would be unlikely to take offense. But what advantages would they provide to Ashe? When he was ready, he swallowed, then cast a brilliant smile at Ana. "But I intend to present the lady with a third option."

"And you think she will take it?" Ana laid her arms on the table with a smile. "Care to share the details?"

"Not yet, sweet sister." Al-Cid rested his hand atop Ana's arm. "But when I am ready, you will be the first -- or perhaps the second -- to know."

-x-

The next morning dawned clear and chilly; Ashe had pulled the windows of her suite open, as was her custom to greet the day, but she quickly closed them again to shut out the cold breeze. She partook of the light breakfast that had been delivered to her suite, then dressed in her riding clothes -- pants, a shirt-vest, and a light cloak in deference to the chill. As she emerged from her rooms, she found Martina already waiting for her in the hallway, along with one of Ashe's bodyguards: Pintor, the youngest of the three and the best on chocobo-back.

"Your Majesty." Martina curtsied. "May I show you to the stables?"

"Please." Ashe followed Martina in a new direction, away from the Aerodrome and the great hall, through courtyards and through breezeways. As they walked, Ashe noted that more of the complex seemed to be outside than inside, and she mentioned as much to Martina, who nodded.

"The temperatures are so moderate here, it would be shameful to be inside all day. You will see that most walkways are covered, to keep off the rain in the winter, but otherwise we try to open up our rooms to the world as much as we can."

"It seems a lovely way to live." Ashe thought of her own palace, shut up against heat every day and cold every night, and wondered how different it would be to live in a place like this.

Martina smiled. "I find it to be so, Your Majesty. Ah, here we are." The squeaking of chocobos filled the air, but the sight Ashe focused on was Al-Cid, resplendent in his riding pants and bright green shirt, sunglasses on his face. He stepped forward to her and took her hand with his usual elegant bow.

"You look stunning, Your Majesty," he said. "Thank you for accompanying me."

Ashe tipped her head in return. "I look forward to seeing the countryside. Have mounts been selected, for myself and my companion?" She indicated Pintor, who stepped forward with a quick bow.

"This way." Al-Cid called something into the stable, and a hand emerged with three birds on the rein. "Do you require assistance?"

Without replying, Ashe walked over to the chocobo in the center, who looked at her inquisitively. She patted it on the neck, then grasped the reins and jumped onto its back in a single smooth motion. Then she smiled down at Al-Cid, who looked somewhat stunned. "Does this fellow have a name?"

"Igator," Al-Cid replied. "He is a fine mount, if a bit frisky in the morning sometimes. Azlan favors him."

"Good." Ashe leaned forward and stroked Igator's downy neck. "I'm sure we will understand one another."

Al-Cid chuckled, then mounted his own bird. "Come, let me show you the river." He twitched his reins and clucked a command, and they were off on their morning ride.

-x-

The next several days were among the most pleasant Al-Cid had ever known.

Every morning, Ashe would ride with him, and the two of them would speak of many things: their childhoods, their countries, the future of Ivalice. She told stories of being a princess, doted upon by elder brothers; he shared his experiences as the son of a less-favored wife, born too few months after her marriage to the emperor; they bonded on their shared experiences as younger children in large families. And they discovered more further similarities in their visions of better balance among the three nations. He had known the queen to be intelligent and strong, but he found himself drawn more and more to her thoughtfulness, her independent mind, and of course to her beauty.

Most afternoons, he was at leisure to relax in the palace, while Ashe met with representatives at varying levels of the Rozarrian government: Roderigio, Tiesto, Azlan, members of the Board of Governors. Then in the evenings he would see her again, at dinner, where they would often sit at the same table and continue their conversation of the morning. Afterward, he would walk her to her rooms, where she would bid him good evening and leave him with pleasant thoughts.

The pattern was unchanged until the fourth night of her stay, when after dinner Ashe paused by her doorway as he was about to leave, then brushed his sleeve with her fingertips.

"Would you like to share a drink on my balcony tonight? I find my mind is too busy with the events of the day to sleep just yet."

Al-Cid felt a lurch of anticipation in his throat. "Of course, my lady." She opened the door, and he followed her into her sitting room and through the double doors. A bottle of wine sat on the table there -- the same vintage that he had brought her on that first night -- and before she could act, he was at the sideboard, opening the bottle and pouring two glasses. He handed her one, then noted that they were alone: no guard, no maid. Even the porter was absent. He raised an eyebrow and met her gaze as she took her glass. "No chaperone?"

Ashe laughed, mildly. "Recall that I am a widowed woman of, by some definitions, advancing age. My virtue is no longer at issue; in truth, my advisors are so eager for me to remarry that I suspect they might turn a blind eye to a dalliance with nearly anyone, provided he were an eligible bachelor of suitable station."

Al-Cid allowed himself a step toward her, mindful of her rejection on his last visit to this balcony. "And does this state of affairs suit you, my lady?"

She slid sideways, facing him direct with a wry smile. The moonlight caught her fair hair to wrap her face in a silver cloud. "At times. Too often, they cluck over me like a clutch of mother hens. Even the illusion of freedom is welcome, in comparison."

"Perhaps it needn't be illusory." Al-Cid set aside his wine and stepped closer, daring to catch her hand. Ashe raised an eyebrow, but she did not pull away. "If no one is watching, surely you are free to do as you will." Her hand was soft, but he felt the slight ridge of a hilt-callous along her palm. The evidence of her years as a warrior both intrigued and excited him, and he ran the edge of his thumb along it, tracing the line from the base of her ring finger to her wrist. He could hear her intake of breath, feel her fingers convulse around his hand at the intimate touch, and he drew her in closer. She tilted her head back and sideways -- simply to look at him, or to better judge his intentions? He leaned in a breath closer. "May I--"

Before he could even finish the words, her hand was around his neck, and she was tugging him downward for a kiss. Her mouth was sweet, the taste of the crisp wine fresh on her lips. He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her closer, running a hand up and down the smooth skin of her bare arm.

With some difficulty, he pulled himself free, then brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "You are glorious," he murmured. "If ever a time comes that you need to think kindly of me, remember that I walked away from you this night." He kissed her forehead, then her temple before catching her hand and pressing his lips to the inside of her palm. "Goodnight, Your Majesty." He wrenched his eyes away, and then he left.

-x-

"Thank you for another productive conversation." Roderigio leaned back in his chair. "I shall be eager to learn more of this skystone production method, if this Bunansa is willing to share it."

"Draklor is ever protective of its secrets," Ashe replied. "But if you appeal to Larsa, he may be willing to negotiate an exchange."

Roderigio drummed his fingers on the table, the dull sound echoing in the small conference chamber. "We have been examining fuel sources that might someday replace magicite; perhaps the young Emperor would have an interest in our research."

"As would I." Ashe raised an eyebrow. "You have made progress in this?"

"Small steps, only." Roderigio moved forward with a small smile. "Perhaps we can discuss this in another round of negotiations, when the time is ripe to explore the question of making a more permanent alliance between nations."

"Perhaps so." Ashe rose from her chair, unwilling to carry this discussion any further. This was not the first hint that Roderigio had dropped around the issue of marriage, but she was even less interested in discussing this topic with him than with her own advisors. "And now, if you will excuse me, I believe I shall retire for a quiet dinner in my suite."

"Of course." Roderigio stood up and bowed his head as she left the chamber, using the back of her hand to hide a yawn. It had been a long day, with so many meetings scheduled that she was unable to meet Al-Cid for their morning ride -- a mixed blessing, since she was as yet unsure of how to react to him, after their encounter the night before.

She opened the door to the hallway, and there he was. Smiling as usual, not seeming at all perturbed as he bowed to her, and so she allowed him to kiss her on the hand.

"Good evening, Your Majesty. May I accompany you to dinner?" he asked.

Ashe shook her head. "I have begged off tonight's formal meal and asked for a meal to be sent to my quarters." She paused for but a moment to consider, then continued. "But if you would like to join me, I'm sure something could be arranged."

"Leave it to me." Al-Cid glanced over his shoulder and caught the eye of Martina, who Ashe just now noticed standing half a step behind him. With a nod, she curtsied to Ashe and turned in the direction of the kitchens; Al-Cid then turned back to Ashe and offered his arm.

Without much thought, Ashe took the offered elbow and let him draw her down the hallway. She could feel the warmth of his skin through his dark blue shirt, and she tightened her fingers around it, as much of a caress as she dared to bestow. Would it be so wrong to tarry with him? He was attractive, and of high-enough station to be suitable, not so high as to be dangerous. He clearly wanted her. And it had been so long...

She gave her head a tiny shake. It had been only one kiss. She was not so sheltered that she would blow a single kiss out of proportion. Not again. When they reached her rooms, she pulled her hand free and went through the door first, to see that a table was already set for two in the middle of the parlor -- a carved game hen, a plate of greens, a bottle of red wine, already decanted. She turned to Al-Cid and raised an eyebrow. "Martina is nearly frightening in her efficiency."

"Now you know another reason I have kept her in my service all these years," Al-Cid replied with a smile. He gestured toward the table. "Shall we?"

Ashe sat down and reached for the decanter, but Al-Cid beat her to it, pouring the wine into her glass. She watched the ruby-red liquid swirl against the crystal, glowing in the light from the chandelier above; she took the glass and sipped it as Al-Cid poured for himself. "I could have done that for myself, you know," she said.

"The gentleman always pours for the lady." Al-Cid lifted his glass to her, his head cocked. "I would not want you to think that the men of House Margrace were ill-raised."

"I prize my independence over the stuffy rules of courtly manners." Ashe rested her glass over the table and peered over it at him. "Surely you know this of me by now, just as I know you to be the picture of chivalry. You need not work so hard to impress me." She raised an eyebrow, and, unexpectedly, he laughed.

"I had not realized my motives were so transparent," he replied, and Ashe smiled in return.

"I was a girl with eight brothers," she reminded him. "And now I am a woman moving through a patriarchal world. The ways and motives of men are, of necessity, rituals that have become very familiar to me. Do you think I do not know when I am being courted?"

Al-Cid lifted his glass, took a sip, then left the glass up to partially obscure his face. "Courted?"

Ashe tipped her chin. "What was that last night, if not courting? As I reminded you then, I am no blushing virgin, unschooled and tittering. Propriety keeps me from indulgence, but I am hardly innocent of you, and what you want from me."

"You might be surprised, Your Majesty." Al-Cid took a deeper draught of his wine, then sat forward. "And I think perhaps tonight is the night to make my intentions plain. But first, I wonder if you might tell me if Lord Father has made you any... personal offers."

"Roderigio has been circumspect," Ashe admitted, "but he has made it plain that he would like to strengthen the ties between Rozarria and Dalmasca. But he has not offered any specifics. Yet. Still, I would likely turn any offer of marriage down, at least at this juncture."

"Would you?" Al-Cid looked at her, his face more serious than she had ever before seen it. "Any offer? From anyone?"

He stood and then knelt at her side, coming to one knee next to her chair. He took her hands in his and kissed them, first on their backs, then the underside of each wrist. "My lady. I think it should not come as a surprise to you that I enjoy your company, that I find you a pleasant conversation partner, and I admire your skills as a leader. Already you are growing into a great queen. Rumors persist that you will choose not to marry, that you prefer to consolidate your power in your person rather than share rule with a husband. I see the wisdom in this decision, if it is indeed your decision." He tightened his hands on hers. "But I hope you do not mind my observation that it sounds a lonely life. Perhaps you would like companionship, and a man to serve as father to the heirs you will require. If so, then seek out a man with little personal ambition, a man who is content to serve as support to a throne, a man committed to peace, a man who will not feel threatened by your rule."

Ashe pulled her hands free. "And that man is you, I suppose."

Al-Cid bowed his head. "It is but a suggestion, my lady. And a suggestion I make of my own free will, not prompted by my father's political ambitions, or anyone else's. I know the men he has in mind for you; perhaps it is arrogant of me to believe myself a better choice, but there it is."

"And what would you gain from such an arrangement?" Ashe worked to control her breathing. She should, perhaps have expected this, but it had knocked her off balance regardless.

"Besides a beautiful and powerful wife?" Al-Cid chuckled. "What better place for a man who thrives on information than the royal palace at the center of Ivalice? All the great powers would be accessible to me in less than a day's travel, as well as the merchants and politicians passing through every day." His eyes grew more serious. "And in truth, you are not alone in feeling pressure to marry. Though I am under no obligation to produce heirs, it is thought unseemly, by some, that I have reached the advanced age of eight and twenty without a wife." The sardonic twist to his mouth showed Ashe what Al-Cid thought of this opinion, and she could not help but smile in sympathy.

"And this comes not from Roderigio."

Al-Cid shook his head. "But if you were to accept my suit, I believe he would give his blessing. He cares more that you marry into his house than precisely which man serves as the means. His blood would still be on the thrones of Dalmasca and Nabradia; he would still be rid of an inconvenient scion. His primary interests in the matter would be fulfilled."

Ashe sighed and lifted a hand to Al-Cid's face. His cheek was silken, uncommonly smooth for a man. And, as always when she touched him, he was warm. "You have enumerated many advantages to an alliance between us. But my feelings on this matter are unchanged: I will not marry. Not at this time, and perhaps not ever."

He lowered his head to her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. "I understand, my lady. I shall keep the offer open. If you find your circumstances change, you only need but call." He stood, then retook his seat. "Well. Now that's over with; shall we return to our dinner?"

Ashe drained her wine, then laid her hand, palm-up, upon the table. "Or perhaps we should refrain from the pretense that you came to my rooms to share a meal."

Al-Cid raised an eyebrow. "Such forwardness from a queen. Especially when said queen rejected my offer of marriage not two minutes past."

"And you are so concerned with propriety?" Ashe lifted a brow and looked across the table at him. For a moment, she flashed back to the first time the two of them had sat like this, in her quarters, sharing a private meal; she had found him attractive that day, but tonight he was nigh-irresistible.

He looked at her, his dark eyes narrowing. Then he threw his head back with a bark of laughter. "Sometimes. Perhaps not tonight." His hand came forward and fell on hers; he pressed a finger into her open palm, letting it glide up her skin before encircling her wrist. Then he stood, and she stood with him, allowing him to pull her into his embrace and then capture her mouth in a kiss. His hands settled around her waist, and his lips were soft but insistent in their caress. She responded, sliding her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, opening to admit his warm tongue, sighing as he dipped her backward.

"My lady," he murmured against her mouth, and she found herself laughing in response.

"Ashe," she corrected him, pulling away and smiling up into his eyes. "If we are to proceed, I'd rather you called me by name."

He chuckled, dipped his chin. "Ashe." He repeated it back to her, his accent drawing out the sibilant consonants and making it softer than she was used to hearing it. "Very well, Ashe. You are certain you don't want to finish dinner first?"

She adjusted her hands to encircle the back of his neck. "Consider it an appetizer." His hair was as soft as it looked, downy beneath her fingers. Then she kissed him again, standing on tiptoe to account for his height. He nibbled her lips, kisses soft but also insistent. Between his touch and the glass of wine, Ashe felt heady and content, a warm tingling at the base of her spine spreading to the tips of her fingers. She brought her hands down his arms and caught her hands in his, squeezing their palms together. "Come." As she led him toward the bedchamber, she started to make a detour toward the servant's bellpull, but he stopped her.

"No need." He laid his hand on the one that had already curled around the rope. "Martina will take care of it."

Ashe raised an eyebrow at him. "And what instructions did you give her?"

"None." His eyes gleamed. "But she knows me well."

She could not help but laugh. "Very well. I will trust to her efficiency yet again." She kissed him, then dropped their joined hands from the rope to pull him toward the bedchamber.

The room was softly lit, lamps by the doorway, the drapes closed -- the servants had already turned it down for the night. Al-Cid grasped her by the arms and kissed her again, luxurious and slow. Her own hands rested flat on his chest, the cloth of his shirt silken under her hands. She found the first button and undid it, then the next, revealing his chest. Leaning in, she kissed first his neck, then the hollow above his breastbone. He was even warmer close up, and she encircled her arms around his bare waist, breathed in the light spice of his cologne.

"You are exquisite," he murmured into her hair, then stepped back, lifting her face up to meet his dark eyes with the palm of his hand. "I want to see you, in all your glory. May I?" She nodded, and he let out a breath of anticipation. "The dress fastens in the back?" Without waiting for her answer, he turned her in place and worked the laces and hooks free, his fingers lightly grazing her back, and she shivered. Her dress slid off her shoulders to form a puddle on the ground, and Ashe turned around, took a step toward Al-Cid, who held her away with a hand.

"Wait," he said, his voice dark with desire. "First, to savor this moment." She stopped, tipped her head to the side, and let her arms fall to her sides. He stood back, drinking her in with his eyes; Ashe could hardly breathe, the weight of his admiration making her want him even more. At last he looked up, meeting her gaze with a slow smile. "Ahhhhh. You are even lovelier than I could have imagined." He pulled off his shirt, folded it lengthwise, and hung it off the back of a nearby chair, and then he crossed the space to her, taking her in his arms again. "But as wonderful as you look, you feel even better." He kissed her, taking his time about it, exploring every corner of her mouth. Then he trailed his kisses outward: to her ear, to her neck, the hollow of her shoulder. Before she knew what was happening, he had leaned her down, down against the bed, and his mouth found her breast. Sighing with pleasure, she let him take her, lips and tongue and teeth, and it was perfect, desire welling up in her belly as her hands roamed down his back to cup the swell of his buttocks.

He groaned then, and released her, standing up at the foot of the bed. "I have seen you, tasted you, touched you; but I am being selfish. Shall I now return the favor?"

"Please." Ashe followed him upwards, sitting on the edge of the mattress, and reached for the buttons that held up his pale gray trousers. With care, she undid them, then rolled them down his legs. He wore nothing beneath, and so Ashe came face-to-face with his manhood, standing ready for her.

And here, Ashe hesitated -- she had been so inexperienced with Rasler, and her couplings with Vossler had been furtive affairs, moments stolen in dark corners and in desert caves, blindly seeking life in a time of death, no time for lingering kisses or the games she knew lovers would play. She reached forward, tentative, running a fingertip along the bottom, then around to the sides.

Al-Cid groaned again, and brought his hand to hers, guiding her to encircle him in a full grip. "Yes," he whispered. "Oh yes."

Partly from his guidance, partly from instinct, Ashe began to stroke him, lightly at first, then harder. She squeezed, and he let out a sharp gasp, tossing his head back. She paused, and he pulled away, only to lower himself down next to her on the bed.

"Wonderful, you are so wonderful," he mumbled into her ear, followed by a few words in Rozarrian that she did not recognize. Then he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, the cloud of his hair brushing her cheeks, a fierceness of need in him that she realized he had been holding back before. He eased her back up the bed, then slid a hand up her thigh. "Are you ready for me?"

In response, Ashe opened her legs and guided his hand up to her cleft, which she knew he would find slippery, waiting. His eyes opened wider, and then he smiled.

Ashe slipped down and beneath him, shifting her hips to allow him in; when he buried himself inside her, she tightened her legs around him with a moan. Good, so good it felt to be with a man again, and with a man who opened his eyes and saw no obligations: not the wife he was obligated to marry, not the queen he was obligated to protect, naught more than a woman he desired in his arms. Some part of her, a tiny rational corner of her brain, knew this assessment to be unfair to Rasler, to Vossler, to herself, but still she looked into Al-Cid's face and relished the simplicity of his desire.

Then the moment passed, and he was rocking against her and she was responding, her hips in perfect motion with his, and she worshipped with him, supplicants at the altar of pleasure.

-x-

Al-Cid woke, noticed the weight in his arms, and smiled. It was not a dream, no longer a fantasy. He had bedded the queen of Dalmasca, and now she slept at his side. It was, perhaps, the most pleasant reality to which he had ever woken.

Ashe stirred, mumbled something, then rolled over without waking, turning her back against his chest. He leaned forward, letting his face fall into the nimbus of her soft pale hair; first he breathed deep, taking in the scent of skin and a light perfume, reminiscent of some desert flower, and then he planted a gentle kiss on the top of her head. She had been an enthusiastic lover, Al-Cid thought, in her responses to his touch, every kiss, the sound of his voice. He wondered how long it had been for her. Certainly not as long as the untimely end of her marriage -- a woman as passionate as Ashe going nearly three years without a lover seemed unthinkable, and yet a lady of her station would have to be cautious, too, about whom she might trust.

"My lady, it is an honor," he whispered into her hair, soft enough to keep her from waking, but aloud so that some unconscious part of her might hear his words and know them to be true. "May I endeavor to be worthy of it."

-x-

Some time later, Ashe awakened, not alone for the first time in too many years, a man's soft snore filling her ears. It was a strange feeling, simultaneously pleasant and yet disconcerting, to realize she had left herself so vulnerable to another. She rolled up onto her elbow and considered Al-Cid: his dark hair spilling over the pillow, his tanned skin contrasting with the crisp white sheets, his arm thrown up over his face, those elegant long fingers splayed over his eyes and forehead. He really was quite lovely. Perhaps a bit too obvious in his flirtations, but he backed up his pretty words with action, given the opportunity.

And she could make free with him, she realized; perhaps it was not possible to be too forward with Al-Cid Margrace. She laid a hand lightly on his shoulder and ran it down his side, letting it rest on his hip. He let out a quiet moan, then opened his eyes.

"Good morning," she said.

He responded with a slow, lazy smile. "Indeed it is, my lady. Ashe." Draping his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her in for a kiss, long and luxurious. His hand slid down her back and pressed her tight. Then he paused, pulled away, and let his other hand fall into her hair. "No regrets, I hope?"

"None," she assured him, punctuating her words with a swift kiss to his forehead, then his cheek. "Although I make no promises regarding future assignations. I would welcome them, but..."

"No promises are required." He kissed her again, and she found herself melting against him. "We will proceed at your will. And I will speak naught of this to anyone unless and until you wish otherwise."

Ashe pushed a lock of hair back from his eyes. "I trust in your discretion." She tipped her head back with a smile. "Such are the advantages of taking a spymaster as lover."

He laughed. "Indeed so. Now. Shall I call for breakfast?"

"Best let me take care of it." Ashe dropped one last kiss on him, then disentangled herself, pulling on her robe as she made her way to the servant's bell. A moment later, the door opened, and Adella appeared, her eyes widening as she noted first Ashe's disheveled state, then Al-Cid on the bed.

"Your Majesty?"

"Draw me a bath, and sent for breakfast for two. And notify the prince's valet that he will need wardrobe for the day."

"The latter's already taken care of, milady. Milord." Adella bobbed a quick curtsey in Al-Cid's general direction, though she kept her gaze averted. "Someone dropped off his things before dawn. I'll bring them right in.

Ashe raised an eyebrow at Al-Cid, who shrugged. "Martina." It was all he needed to say.

"Of course." Ashe looked back at Adella. "Please bring them in. That will be all."

"Ma'am." Adella stepped out of the doorway before returning with an armful of clothes, which she deposited on the vanity. Then she skittered through the room before disappearing into the bath chamber, and Ashe shook her head at the door that closed behind her.

"You trust in her discretion, I hope."

Al-Cid sat up in the bed, letting the covers fall away, and Ashe allowed herself a moment to admire his lean frame. Then she adjusted her gaze to meet his eyes, and nodded. "I would not have brought her otherwise. Now get dressed. I'll see you in the parlor for breakfast." And with that, she made her way to the bath, ready for her libations.

She bathed, dressed, and took a moment to herself on the balcony. Unexpected, this proposal of marriage -- despite all the hints and hopes she had been subjected to over the past year, Al-Cid was the first person to be forthright. His offer had much to recommend it, but for her disinclination to marry at all. And how could she accept any man to husband when she had expended so much effort convincing her council that the time was not yet right?

It was with these thoughts simmering that she made her way into the parlor where Al-Cid and a hot breakfast awaited her. He stood at her approach, taking a step toward her, then stopping. "May I?"

Ashe paused, then nodded. He embraced her with a kiss, a light nibble on the corners of her mouth, and she responded, hands tightening against his back.

"Your Majesty?"

At the rap on the door, Ashe jumped out of Al-Cid's arms, smoothing down her dress. "Yes?"

"Your Majesty, there is an urgent message for you. May I enter?"

The voice belonged to Martina; Ashe cast a quick look to Al-Cid, who shrugged. "Of course, please come in." Ashe stepped toward the door, fighting down the blush that should not have been staining her cheeks.

The door creaked open, and Martina came inside. "My lady." She dropped into a quick curtsey. "Judge Magister Gabranth is here to see you. I had him escorted to a nearby audience room. He would speak with you at your earliest opportunity."

Basch, here? Ashe furrowed her brows. That could spell no good tidings. "Thank you, Martina. Please escort me to him directly."

"Of course, my lady." Martina led Ashe out the door and down a curving hallway to a room only three doors down. Ashe walked into the small chamber, as richly-appointed as any in Ambervale, Basch standing in armor at its opposite end. "Judge Magister."

"Your Majesty." Basch approached, then took her offered hand in his gloved one and bowed over it. "Apologies for the intrusion. I pray my timing was not too inconvenient."

Ashe retrieved her hand. "I trust that only an urgent errand would bring you to me." She looked over her shoulder at Martina, who had hung back in the door way. "Thank you, Martina, that will be all. Please convey my apologies to the prince, and inform him that I will find him when I have finished here."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Martina curtsied again, then left, shutting the door as she went.

"What is it?" Ashe looked at Basch, working to keep fear out of her voice. "Is Larsa..."

"The emperor is well, but he requests your assistance." Basch leaned forward and lowered his voice. "There are reports of an increase in monster activity all throughout Ivalice, along with speculation about a mysterious ship that appeared outside Rabanastre about three weeks ago."

"Yes, 'twas a strange airship, unlike any we had ever seen. It appeared, then disappeared within hours, not long before I made my journey here." Ashe frowned. "You postulate a connection."

Basch nodded. "Larsa believes one to be likely, and he has charged me to find out the truth of the matter. If you are willing and able..."

"Yes, of course." Ashe stood. "My goals here are accomplished; I am now merely idling. Once I have taken my leave of my hosts, we can be off."

"Good." Basch raised an eyebrow. "Your visit has been productive?"

"I would rather say enlightening," Ashe replied. "I will tell you more on the journey. For now, I must make my farewells. Shall I meet you in the Aerodrome in two hours?"

"That will be more than sufficient." Basch brought his arms across his chest, and bowed. "Majesty." He walked past her and opened the door; Ashe pulled on the servants bell, and almost before she had released the silken cord, Martina was at her side.

"I leave in two hours. Send a message to my retinue to prepare the Leviathan for departure."

"Immediately, Your Majesty." Martina curtsied.

"Thank you." Ashe paused in thought. "And tell Al-Cid..."

"I will hear whatever you have to tell." Al-Cid appeared behind Martina, and Ashe raised an eyebrow. How much had he seen, and heard? "Is there an emergency at home, or in Archadia?"

Ashe glanced at Martina, then back at Al-Cid. How much to trust him with? "All is well; His Honor has merely asked me to aid in an investigation of a curious phenomenon in the Estersand."

"I see." Al-Cid exchanged looks with Martina before dismissing her with a wave. She nodded to him, then Ashe, then disappeared as Al-Cid stepped through the door and closed it. "I would not have expected you to run Larsa's errands with the man who murdered your father. Oh, I know the official story," he continued, cutting off the objection that Ashe had been about to make with a twitch of his hand. "Poor King Raminas, slain by the traitor Basch, who was either executed for his crimes or died a hero's death in the Battle Above Rabanastre, regaining his lost honor in dealing a mortal blow to Lord Vayne. Depending, as always, on which version of the story you believe." He lifted a brow at her. "But a new variation has been making the rounds since before we first met, a story of misused identity, of brother betrayed by brother. A tale that makes a great deal more sense than a man as honorable and sensible as Captain Basch losing his head at the prospect of surrendering to the Archadian Empire and killing his own king."

When Ashe could speak again, she did so with half her voice. "My father's murderer is dead." She bowed her head. "I was there when he died at the hands of Vayne and the Occuria." Lifting her eyes to Al-Cid's, she went on, stronger now. "Believe what you like about his identity, but speak naught of it in public. Larsa depends on the Judge Magister, and the Judge Magister depends on his honor. If that honor were to be blackened, it would weaken Larsa, an outcome which none of us can afford."

"You may trust in my discretion. In this, as in all matters." He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing first the back, then the palm, and Ashe shivered with pleasure both immediate and remembered. "As for those other matters... the offer remains open."

"My answer will not change," she replied, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. "I will not commit myself to any marriage before my hold on the throne is secure."

"The coronation is but a few short weeks away," Al-Cid reminded her. "Surely, once that is accomplished..."

"It will help." Ashe allowed Al-Cid to tug on her hand and draw her closer. "But I must needs establish myself as sole monarch before taking a husband, or even a royal consort. Do you think they will listen to a woman if I give them the opportunity to listen to a man instead?"

Al-Cid chucked. "A point to you, my lady." He tightened his grip on her fingers. "As for today's visitor, I will not speculate on his identity. But the fact that you went straight to him tells me all I need know. And perhaps, in part explains your hesitation to commit to another?"

Startled into a laugh, Ashe covered her mouth with her free hand. "Surely you cannot think... No, no." She thought through her next words with care. "I have known him my whole life, and he is most dear to me. In a sense, he is the last of my brothers, the only one who yet survives. But more than that? No."

"Ah. Good." Al-Cid smiled down at her. "Of course, for me to demand fidelity in a wife or lover would scale the heights of hypocrisy. Any... arrangements you wished to make could certainly be negotiated."

"I will bear that in mind," Ashe replied. It seemed unlikely that she would call upon this offer, unless... but no. He had made his choice; the more she thought on it, the more the return of Rasler's ring made Balthier's intentions, or his lack thereof, clear. She clenched her free hand into a fist, feeling the weight of the ring on her finger, biting into her palm; then she opened that hand and lifted it to Al-Cid's smooth, warm cheek. "Every offer is appreciated, even if they cannot be accepted."

"I prefer to believe that time will tell." Al-Cid bent down to her and brought his arms around her back, then kissed her, his mouth soft yet insistent. Her hand slid into his soft hair as she returned the kiss and molded her body to his. He was attractive, she told herself, and a skilled lover -- why should she deny herself the pleasure she could take in his body, the adoration of his spirit, the counsel of his keen mind? What of it, if Nabradia objected, or Archades? She could not please everyone.

She took one last kiss from him, then pulled free of his embrace. "I must prepare for my journey. Thank you for a most pleasurable visit. Please convey my thanks to the Emperor, as well as regrets for my abrupt departure. And I hope to see you both at the coronation."

Al-Cid kissed her hand one last time and bowed to her. "My lady, I shall count the hours."


	4. Chapter 4

There had been few things to recommend a life spent on the run, Ashe reflected, but the ability to step onto the desk of an airship and feel the wind in her hair was a pleasure she had missed. The cabin of the Galbana had been stuffy, the trip to the Purvama long, and so Ashe had stepped outside. To get some air, and to be alone, and to grasp every possible moment of pure freedom. This mission was important, but it would likely be her last. It was not proper for sitting queens to disappear with little notice, especially not when a Judge Magister of Archadia was one of her hunting companions. Nor a pair of notorious sky pirates, friends of the crown or no.

"Your Majesty?"

The voice cut through the sound of the engines and the wind, and Ashe's fingers tightened on the rail. She did not turn around, nor did she respond beyond a slight incline of her head. Her heart skipped a beat, and she damned it for its treachery. How dare it hope that he would follow her out here? And yet, she had both prayed for and dreaded a moment alone with him. So far, she had managed to avoid being so; she had been unable to decide whether she was arranging matters such, or he was.

Footsteps on metal decking, and then their owner appeared: Balthier, taking a place at her right on the rail. He closed his eyes, then shook his head against the wind. "A little drafty, don't you think? You're like to be carried off."

"Hmm." Ashe tipped her chin into the breeze. "I wanted to feel the wind on my face. I'll not be long."

"As you say." Balthier faced forward, staring over the desert sands. Ashe risked a brief glance at him and wondered how much he knew. She had tried to keep her visit to Rozarria somewhat quiet, and had told no one about Al-Cid's proposal, not even Basch -- there had been no time, no privacy. And yet she assumed at least the visit itself was the subject of gossip; should Balthier not hear of this possibility from Ashe herself, rather than from idle rumors?

And yet, how much courtesy did she owe him? They had shared an adventure, true, months of toil and danger and pain, but no more. Or almost no more: the memory of his confidences on the Phon Coast, and of a stolen kiss on the eve of battle, loomed large in Ashe's mind, but they'd not spoken of either; did he care, or even remember? Surely his return of the ring, his presence on this deck, meant something, but what that might be, Ashe could no longer even hazard a guess.

"There's something I--" The words came before she realized she had decided to speak them, and she stopped herself, appalled at the unguardedness of her tongue. What strange behaviors this man provoked in her. She sighed and shook her head.

Balthier angled his head sideways and met her eyes. "Go on."

No choice now but to continue forward. "I traveled to Rozarria not long past. I was preparing to leave for home when Basch called me to this mission. I saw Al-Cid there."

"A state visit, was it?" Balthier crossed his wrists against the rail and leaned against them. "A queen's work is never done."

Had he taken her meaning? With Balthier, it could be hard to tell. "You really must see a sunset in Ambervale. It was beautiful."

Balthier lifted his chin, a slight tilt to the horizon. "No more beautiful than the view from the Strahl, I should think."

Ashe shook her head again, this time with a soft laugh. "If only I'd the time to appreciate it, then."

He turned fully, his elbow on the railing, facing her. She moved only her head, looking to face him, meeting the dark blue eyes that stared straight into hers. "There's still time." His voice was intense, barely audible above the wind, and it carried an invitation that she dared not even hear, much less accept.

In that moment, she knew: it had not, a year ago, all been in her imagination. She rejoiced in her certainty, and she also mourned. "Is there, Balthier?" She spoke softly in return, not looking away, and something flashed in the depths of his eyes. Then he bowed his head in a gesture that could have been a nod, or supplication, or simple defeat. With all her strength, she did not reach out to touch his face, to brush the hair from his brow. Instead, she turned for one last look out at the dunes, took a deep breath, and walked away, back to the stairs that would lead her to the cabin, and safety.

-x-

It had been a dull fortnight, each day stretching interminably into the next. With the Dalmascan delegation gone, Al-Cid had few duties, and so he had retired to his apartments in Rosalis, preferring the bustle of the city to the too-quiet halls of Ambervale. More to distract him, here.

There were his birds, of course, but they had not much of interest to share, and his juiciest tidbits from Ashe's visit were not for the telling -- he was sworn to silence on the true identity of the Judge Magister, and his offer to Ashe was not a story he cared to share openly.

But even had there been news to exchange, Al-Cid found himself less eager than usual to join the dance. Oh, he participated: paid all the social calls, attended the parties, visited his birds and enjoyed the hours he spent in their beds. But there was a hollowness to it all, a gnawing at his spirit. Most nights he came home alone, to sit in his parlor and half-heartedly flip through reports and histories. More and more, the books he picked up in the palace library concerned themselves with Dalmasca, or the line of the Dynast-King. But still, he refused to examine his motivations in any depth.

Until one day, two weeks after Ashe's departure from Ambervale, when Martina entered the room late one night and rapped on the doorframe.

"People are starting to talk," she said.

Al-Cid snorted but did not shift from him seat. "And whenever do they not?"

Martina smiled with half her mouth. "Never," she replied. She walked across the room and perched, wren-like, on the arm of Al-Cid's overstuffed chair. "But you must realize that you are living like a hermit, for you. People take notice. Starting with, but not limited to, your elder brother." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a note, its wax seal broken. "A summons from Azlan, to dine at your earliest convenience, which given your recent schedule he would expect to be tomorrow."

With a sigh, Al-Cid sat up and snatched the note from her hands, then folded the sheet in quarters without bothering to read it. "Damn his perceptiveness. He'll want to know about Andros, I suppose, the one path along which I've not managed to make any progress. Very well. Send word that I will attend -- in two days. But first, accept Lady Catriona's invitation for tomorrow night. She knows a number of the Nabradian refugees; perhaps an opportunity will present itself. At the very least, Cat knows how to provide a fair night's entertainment."

This time Martina's smile was more genuine. "It shall be done." With a few steps, she was behind the chair, her hands closing around Al-Cid's shoulders. "I haven't seen you this out of sorts for years. Not since that girl in Bhujerba. Carri, was it? The one who decided she preferred the head Parijahna?" Al-Cid scowled, but he did not move away; instead he leaned back into Martina's hands as she began to massage his shoulders and neck. Her touch soothed him, as it always did, and he closed his eyes, letting his head fall forward. "I must admit, I'm surprised to see you taking this so close to heart. You enjoyed Her Majesty's company, and she seemed to enjoy yours, but did you really think she would acquiesce so easily, knowing all the external pressures she must face?"

Al-Cid let out a soft groan as Martina pressed against a knotted muscle under his right shoulder blade. "I suppose not." He tipped his head backwards and looked up at Martina, who looked back down at him, dark tresses falling forward into her face. "Promise you'll never leave and take your sensible mind with you."

She bent down and planted a gentle kiss on his brow. The soft ends of her hair tickled his neck and the top of his chest, and he shivered. "As long as you need me, I am here." Sliding downward to kiss his nose, then a swift brush against his lips; he brought his hand up around her head and kissed her in return. Then she stood, and was gone, off on her errands. Al-Cid roused himself from the chair to turn and watch her go, tucking Azlan's note into his pocket. A reckoning would come, and soon: he would have to confess his plans to Azlan and Roderigio before they found out by other means. Best to take the opportunity Azlan had presented him to do so. In the meantime, perhaps an evening with Lady Catriona would clear his mind, reset his priorities. This was not love, he told himself firmly, only a new infatuation, a state he had survived a hundred times before. Surely his emotions would settle back into place once he saw her again. Her absence, and the sting of rejection, had inflated her image in his mind. The reality would fall short of his fancies, as always.

Matters thus settled in his mind, he sat at his desk and pulled out parchment and quill, ready to start the wheels moving again.

-x-

Those same two weeks had passed in nearly the blink of an eye for Ashe. Flitting from islet to islet in the Purvama, with side trips over nearly the whole of Ivalice, fighting and plundering and chasing mysteries had been exhilarating but also exhausting, and Ashe found herself relieved that the hunt seemed to be coming near its end, not least because her coronation date drew uncomfortably close.

It was with this last in mind that she left the cabin for the engine room, seeking out Balthier. They had not spoken much since their conversation on the deck, exchanging only the necessary words to complete their mission, and she felt something lacking from their interactions. And so she followed a faint banging noise down the hallway, toward the depths of the ship, where she discovered him, attacking the glossair control system with a half-rusted wrench. He glanced up at her approach, then returned his attentions to the large nut he seemed to be tightening. "Looking to practice your mechanical skills?" he asked.

"No, only to speak with you." Ashe came closer so that she would not need to shout over the sound of the engine and his tinkering. "Is something wrong with the ship?"

"Naught serious." Balthier leaned in to the console and flipped a switch. "I hear a bit of whine on the sharp turns; best to tune her before it gets any worse." Giving the wrench one last turn, he stepped back from the console with a satisfied nod, then moved on to the next. "If you would talk with me, then speak; I have much more to do here."

"I wished to ask..." The words stuck in her throat and then changed as she spoke them. "Have you been avoiding me?" She despised the question as soon as it was out of her mouth.

Balthier glanced up from his work and raised an eyebrow. "Avoiding you, Majesty? Whyever should I do that?"

Ashe spread her hands. "I know not. That is why I ask."

"Ah." He turned away from her and pulled again with his wrench, brow furrowing with the effort. "Well, I am not. Merely busy, what with keeping this ancient hulk in one piece for a few days longer."

"Good, then." Ashe let her arms fall to her sides, and she stepped out of the way to watch Balthier tweak levers and punch switches, a look of intense concentration on his face. There was a smudge of grease on his cheek, and she had to resist the urge to wipe it clean. After a time, he looked up again.

"Was there anything else?"

His tone seemed sharp, and Ashe took another step backwards with a shake of her head. She had thought to ask whether he planned to attend the coronation, but that line of questioning seemed ill-advised, in his current mood. "I-- no."

"Then I have work to do." He walked around to the back of a ring console and knelt on the floor. "Not all of us can spend our days chasing after Rozarrian princes, you know."

Ashe took in a sharp breath, her head jerking back as though she'd been slapped. "And just what are you insinuating?"

Balthier looked up at her, his expression bland. "Rumors spread like Fire through a Mist-filled sky, Majesty. Surely you are not unaware of this."

"And what do rumors say?" Ashe stepped forward, crossing her arms over her stomach. "That I rule a nation still recovering from years of war, that I will do whatever it takes to see my people strong and secure?"

"Among other things." Balthier gave the wrench one last tug, then tossed it into his toolbox with a clatter. "That should do it. Mustn't let the ship fall apart. Otherwise you'll never get back for your coronation, and the endless dance of politics and deceit you seem to crave. Now I'm back to the cockpit; wouldn't do to let Vaan crash the thing." And without another word, or a nod, or even a look, he walked away from her, his shoulders stiff as Ashe stared after him.

Long minutes passed, and then Ashe let out the breath she had been holding. "Blast him!"

"Do not take it too close to heart." Fran stepped out from the shadows and fixed an eye on Ashe. "So long away from the Strahl, he grows restless. And he sees our journey drawing to its end, and fights that knowledge as he can."

Ashe raised an eyebrow. "Why should Balthier be reluctant to return to his own business? I should think he would be relieved to have this done, his freedom returned."

Fran said nothing, only looked at Ashe, an eyebrow raised, until Ashe had to look away from the intensity of her gaze.

"Oh."

"He knows this hunt is likely your last." Fran shook her head, sorrow creeping into her voice "And so he wants it done, while also wishing for it never to end."

"There is naught to be done about that." Ashe sighed. "But never mind. I came out to the engine room because I wished to invite you both to the coronation. Though I recognize that state events are not an occasion of great comfort for you or for Balthier. Regardless, your presence would mean a great deal to me. Please know that you are welcome."

Fran responded with a bare nod. "We shall discuss it, although I think our attendance should not be expected. You understand."

Ashe bowed her head. "I ask only that you consider it."

"A request easily granted." Fran glanced down the hall, in the direction Balthier had stalked off. "You'd best return to the others now."

-x-

Al-Cid knocked, and the door to Azlan's apartments opened, revealing Ana. "Cid." She presented him with a drink and a kiss and he accepted both with a warm smile. "So good of you to come."

Al-Cid shrugged. "In truth I was not left much choice. Azlan's summons was... not ambiguous."

Ana took Al-Cid's coat and handed it off to a servant. "Do not hold it against him. Queen Ashe's coronation is fast upon us, and he grows impatient with your seeming lack of progress on the question of Nabradia. Add that to your curious absence from the social scene, and you might suspect that he has begun to worry."

"A reasonable set of concerns, I grant you," Al-Cid acknowledged. He took a draught of his wine. "But Azlan must learn to trust me better. I have ever been my own man, and he knew this when he requested my aid. I work at my own pace, or not at all."

"Fair enough." Ana dipped her head. "But still, you are here now. Surely there is no harm in at least sharing a progress report."

Al-Cid returned the nod. "And providing him with one is the reason I have come. Your presence is but an unexpected bonus."

Ana laughed. "Ever the flatterer. Come, your royal brother is waiting."

He drew her hand through his arm, and they walked down the hallway together. Azlan's city home was, like his ship, richly decorated, every surface covered with marble or polished brass, artwork on the walls, mosaic flooring depicting scenes from Valendian mythology. It was wretched excess at its best; Al-Cid sometimes admired the style, but today he found it tiring. Instead, he found his attention focusing on Ana: her plain red dress, the color setting off her dark hair and pale skin. She glowed with life, in a way that Al-Cid could not help but compare with Ashe.

On the surface, he thought, they could not be more different. Ana was tall, soft from years of court life, broad-shouldered, dark; Ashe was fair and slender, but backed by muscle. And yet he could draw comparisons between them: their intelligence, their toughness, their ease in moving through a man's world. Their aliveness. In another time and place, perhaps they would have been monarchs together. He cast another sidelong glance at Ana, remembering that he had promised to tell her of his plans with regard to the queen. Perhaps tonight was the time to broach the subject, with Ana and Azlan both.

Together they entered the dining room, where Azlan had already taken his seat at the head of the table, a glass of brandy in his hand. He lifted the hand, as if to propose a toast, without looking up. "There you are," he said. "I was uncertain whether you'd come."

Al-Cid escorted Ana to a seat, then went around to the chair across the table from her, Azlan on his right hand. "As if I would ignore a summons from my dear brother?"

Azlan's head snapped sideways toward Al-Cid as he drew breath for a retort; before he could do so, Ana cut him off with a frown. "Enough." Azlan narrowed his eyes at Ana, but he leaned back in his chair, and Ana turned her stern gaze on Al-Cid. "If you are to be allies, you'd best start acting like it. Can you not stop needling one another for a single night?"

Spreading his hands, Al-Cid bowed his head. "You are right, of course. My apologies."

"Good." Ana squared herself to the table and summoned a servant with the crook of a finger. The man was immediately at her arm, pouring a glass of wine first for her, then for Al-Cid. "Now, to business. Unless you'd rather dine first?"

"I prefer to get started; we can eat while we talk." Azlan lifted his chin, and the servant responded with a nod before disappearing into the kitchen. "So, Al-Cid. In the spirit of cooperation, I will not ask why you have been absent, but only to give me any sign of progress you might have made in the question of Nabradia and Victor Andros. I note that you have not been back to Rabanastre; did pursuing other avenues bear more fruit?"

"No, alas." Al-Cid sat back in his chair, leaving room for the plate of salad being placed before him. "None of the Nabradian sympathizers in town will speak with me, or if they do, they are circumspect. I even went so far as to attend Lady Catriona's soiree last night; she attempted to wrangle me an invitation to several households, but failed. They are drawn up tight against us."

Azlan leaned forward, elbow propped on the table, making a basket of his fingers to rest his chin. "Unfortunate. What, then, is your next step?"

"Rabanastre," Al-Cid said. "If, as we anticipate, Ashe claims rule of Nabradia at her coronation, it seems likely that Andros will be in attendance. I will make every effort to contact him there."

"And if you fail, as you did before?" Azlan shook his head. "If the Nabradians will not meet with you here, what makes you think you will do better in Rabanastre?"

"There might be one way." Ana tapped the side of her glass with a fingernail. "Your alliance with our faction is not well known -- an advantage of your having been less in society, of late. Perhaps if you could convince Andros that you come at the behest of Tiesto...?"

Humming thoughtfully, Al-Cid leaned back against his chair. "Risky, if we are wrong about the connection between Andros and Tiesto. But it might be our best chance."

"Agreed." Azlan dropped his hands and sat up. "Very well; it shall be so. But I did not realize that you were attending the coronation."

Al-Cid smiled. "I was invited by the queen herself."

Ana and Azlan exchanged a look. "So it's true," Azlan mused. "You did bed her, in Ambervale."

To his horror, a light flush came over Al-Cid's cheeks; he took a deep drink of his wine to cool them, but from Azlan's smug look, he suspected the attempt had not entirely succeeded. He set the glass down. "I did rather more than that, my brother." Al-Cid allowed himself a single deep breath before he continued. "I offered for her hand."

"What!" Ana fairly leapt up from her seat, while Azlan settled back into his with a widening smile. "What? Did you-- does Father know?"

Al-Cid shook his head. "Not yet. He has not, so far as I know, yet tendered an offer of his own, so I felt no urgency."

"No urgency?!" Ana had stepped back from the table and was pacing now, back and forth in front of the entrance to the hall. "With the Queen about to take her throne, to claim Nabradia as well as Dalmasca, this question of Nabradia's relationship to Rozarria hanging over all our heads, and you did not think to discuss this scheme with your Emperor? Or with us?"

Azlan looked to Ana, eyebrow raised. "You have lost me, sister. Cid's proposal seems to fit in perfectly with our plans."

Ana turned a poisoned glare on Azlan. "Then you do not understand our plans at all." And with that she stalked out of the room, Al-Cid only capable of gaping at her empty chair, until Azlan broke the spell with a hand clapped to his shoulder.

"Give her time," he said. "I suspect she was still secretly hoping you would wed her sister-in-law, further cementing our ties to House Alcenar and bring them closer to the throne in the next generation."

Al-Cid snorted. "And thereby keeping me in Rosalis?"

Azlan lifted a shoulder, non-committal. "She does seem to enjoy having you around. Only the gods know why." He favored Al-Cid with an amused glance. "I disagree with her; I believe marrying you off to Ashe is a fine plan. You are Rozarrian, but -- despite our recent association -- known to be neutral on the Nabradian question. Do you think she will accept you?"

"Not before she is crowned," Al-Cid replied, finally turning to look straight on at Azlan. "That, she has made plain. But afterwards? Perhaps."

"Well, good. Keep me informed. Ah, good, the main course is arriving. Try the pheasant; it's excellent."

-x-

It had been a long flight back from the Purvama. Too many people huddled into the cabin of the Strahl, unease at the prospect of breaking up their party yet again, and the reproach of Balthier's back had combined to bring Ashe more discomfort than expected. If Balthier had not been avoiding her before, he was surely staying out of her way now, and Ashe had been more than willing to oblige him. She had considered confiding in Basch, but she had just as quickly rejected the idea -- enough privacy would have been impossible to come by, and she dreaded what Basch might say. True, Basch was no Vossler, aiming to protect her from her own choices. But she still chose silence, even while it made her feel more isolated than ever before.

The Strahl had dropped her alone in the palace's private Aerodrome, and alone she made her way through the corridors, not even pausing as she nodded at the guards and courtiers she passed. The coronation was in three days -- she had returned just in time. As she entered her father's office, she picked up the sheaf of papers waiting for her there. Arrangements, guest lists, seating charts, last-minute treaty alterations. As she reached over to pick them up, a small box on the desk caught her eye, and she touched the red ribbon that encircled it. "Rochard?"

Her aide cracked the door a piece, and his head appeared through the entrance. "Your Majesty?"

"Where did this come from?"

"Delivered by the Rozarrian embassy yesterday, ma'am. A gift on the occasion of your coronation."

"Ah. Thank you." Rochard nodded, then disappeared. Ashe untied the bow and lifted the lid off the box to reveal its contents: a small crystal rose, nestled in a bed of green velvet. She smiled, and ran her finger along the delicate edge of one of its tiny carved petals. One thing she would say for Al-Cid: his courtship methods might not be subtle, but they were certainly thoughtful. She closed the box again and picked it up, resting it in the palm of her hand. It was time to get some rest; the planning and headaches could wait until tomorrow. Standing, she slipped through the side door that opened into the short corridor leading directly to her quarters.

Once there, she let the heavy wooden door fall behind her. She set the box down on the table by the entryway, then pulled the crystal flower free, careful to handle only the cushion lest she damage the fine carving. Cradling it in her hands, she made her way through the foyer and into her parlor. She set it down gently on the coffee table and regarded it for a second. Looking at it made her think of Al-Cid, and wonder where he was. Did he watch the sunset in Ambervale, the golden sun catching his dark hair? Was he alone, or with Martina, or another of his women? The thought tugged at her, oddly. She would not have expected to care.

Then she looked up and gasped, her hands jumping to her throat. "You-- what-- how?"

"You might want to improve security before the coronation, Your Majesty." Balthier stood up from the chair in the corner. "Wouldn't do to have an assassin make his way in before the succession is settled, now would it?"

Ashe recovered her tongue, and her breath, and she let her hands slowly fall to her sides. "Perhaps you could give the Captain of the Guard some pointers."

Balthier raised an eyebrow. "I doubt that my assistance would be welcome, but if you wish to arrange a meeting, I shall consider it." He took a step forward, and his eyes lit on the coffee table where the crystal rose rested. "A lovely trinket you have there. Rozarrian in make, unless I miss my guess?"

Ashe cocked her head to the side. "I see. Now you are an expert on crystal carving?"

"Comes with the job." Balthier shrugged, his hands spread wide. "A piece like that would fetch a pretty penny in certain markets. I've had my hands on more than one work of Rozarrian art."

"Have you then."

Balthier flashed a wry smile. "And can you say less?" Ashe took a sharp breath; he continued before she could make her retort. "Rozarria is known as a land of artisans, after all; I expect you're cognizant of that fact, given your recent visit."

"They have left their mark on Ambervale." Ashe nodded in acknowledgement. "It is a place of dazzling beauty, truly."

"Is it beauty that draws you, Majesty?" Balthier took half a step closer, as he looked up at her. "Would you make your home in a sumptuous valley, surrounded by vineyards and fountains and hills that turn to gold in the summer?"

Ashe's hands tightened into soft fists. "My place is here, Balthier. As you well know. Would you be here, otherwise?"

His eyes softened. "Point to you, my Queen."

"Which brings my first question to the forefront of mind: How are you here when you left me in the Aerodrome not an hour since?"

Balthier began walking across the room, slow steps, one foot in front of the other. "I gave Fran the helm, and she dropped me on the roof. Quite simple, really, when you know the schedule of the guards. And Vaan is more observant than you might think."

"So now we have the how, which leaves us only with the why." Ashe stepped within a hands-breath of him, and in a fit of daring, she raised her palms to his shoulders, resting them on the rough brocade of his vest.

"Because you asked me." Balthier lowered his chin, bringing them nearly nose to nose. "Far be it from me to turn down an invitation to the party of the decade."

Ashe smiled. "The party isn't for three days."

"Call it fashionably early." He was close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheeks and smell the undercurrents of whiskey and musk. "Assuming that early guests are welcome."

It was enough; Ashe closed the gap and she kissed him, once, swiftly, her hands sliding up his shoulders to curl around his neck.

He looked down at her, his eyes hooded, and then he came down for a second kiss, a third and a fourth. His arm came around her and she felt his palm on her back, pressing her close. The fifth kiss blurred into the sixth, and then he was everywhere, his lips against her cheek, her eyelid, her forehead, her temple, now buried into her neck as she tipped her head back, with a soft hiss of breath. He kissed the hollow of her shoulder, against the pulse in her throat. Ashe sighed again in response, and pressed herself into the hard planes of his body.

Balthier. He was real, he was here, his firm hands caressing her back, top to bottom and back to the top. She turned her head and kissed him again, the side of his neck, his smooth hair, closing her mouth around his ear to rake lightly at it with her teeth. He jerked, once, and then pulled away to find her mouth with his again, each kiss faster and more frantic than the last as she twined her fingers in his hair, pressing them into the back of his neck.

"Ashe." He said her name against her lips, the word a near-groan that sent a rash of shivers down her spine to settle in her stomach. His hands were around her waist again, lifting her with an urgency that she felt echoed in herself. She came up on her toes and opened to him, taking his mouth into a lingering kiss; he pressed back, answering her every movement. It was, she knew, so much more than the kiss they had shared on the Strahl, all those months ago. Who they were, where they were, changed everything.

But one fact it changed not at all: she wanted him. And tonight, perhaps only tonight and never again, but at least tonight, she would have him.

Leaning forward, she tumbled them to the couch and landed atop him, legs tangling together. "Ooof!" Balthier tipped his head back and let out a hard breath. The kiss broken, he lifted a hand to her face, cradling it in his palm. His eyes were liquid with desire. "Ashe--"

"No." She laid three fingers across his lips, pressing against their soft, swollen lines. "No words, not now. We have enough words between us, do we not?"

"Perhaps so," he murmured, kissing the tip of her index finger.

She replaced her fingers with her mouth and kissed him again, long and hard and deep, pressing him into the cushions of the sofa, feeling him rise up, hard against her. Then she sat up, straddling him, and busied herself with undoing the buttons of his vest, then his shirt; he shuddered as her fingers brushed against skin. She spread the fabric wide, then ran her hands up his chest, on either side of his sternum. Many times she had seen him half-naked in the field, as they washed or dressed; sometimes she had blushed and looked away, other times she had watched from a distance, but today she could admire him freely, openly, and she saw in his eyes the pleasure he took from her gaze. She undid her own shirt and pulled it off, tossing it into a corner, and then she came down atop him, skin on bare skin, his hand enveloping her breast. Kissing again, mouths locked together, tongues dancing, Ashe freed a hand to land on the waistband of his pants.

"Yes," he whispered into her mouth, and then she was shifting aside to undo those buttons as well, freeing him from pants and undergarments, her hand coming around him as he worked his fingers beneath her skirt. She slid upward and sheathed him, breathing out with a sigh as Balthier sucked a sharp breath inward. His hands on her hips, hers gliding up and down his chest, she started to ride him. Harder, faster, she gripped his shoulders, clenching the thick fabric of his vest in her hands as the pressure built. He tipped his head backwards, veins pulsing in his neck as he strained to push deep inside her, ever deeper. Rocking herself against him, hard, so hard, she closed her eyes, and finally she let herself go with a soft cry, collapsing against him as he shuddered in response, spending himself in a spasm that started in his hips and traveled outward, his arms around her back and clamping her against him. Panting, she lay there, her cheek against his chest, and listened to the pounding of his heart -- twinned, she was certain, by her own.

Balthier kissed the crown of her head and then nestled against her hair. "I suppose this means you're happy to see me," he murmured, stroking her back with a gentle touch.

She shifted, with a sigh. "I cannot pretend that it isn't damned inconvenient," she said softly. Propping herself up against the back of the couch, she looked down at him, traced the side of his face with her finger. "But yes. I am pleased to see you."

"Good." Balthier raised an eyebrow. "Were it otherwise, my ego might never recover from the blow." With a soft grunt, he pulled himself out from underneath her, and together they sat up, rearranging themselves to sit side-by-side on the sofa. "Now, what opportunity does a guest have to eat dinner in this place?"

"I'll arrange for something." Ashe stood, pulling her skirt back into place and smoothing it. "Just get yourself decent first?"

To the sound of his chuckle, Ashe turned her back on him, retrieved her blouse from the armchair where it had landed, and made her way to the servant's bell, wondering how on earth to explain this to Lucie.

-x-

Once again Al-Cid found himself on the Asura, en route to Rabanastre, anticipating his arrival and dodging Azlan, but for rather different reasons than before. And this time, Ana would not serve as buffer, not with her disapproval between them. Instead, he stuck to his cabin, reading the scanty reports he had managed to amass on Victor Andros, plotting his move to intercept the man. If everything Jasca said was true, Andros would never miss Ashe's coronation, nor any opportunity to influence her toward a closer treaty with Rozarria. So he wrote and re-wrote his request to arrange a meeting -- he needed to imply, but not state, that this meeting was blessed by Tiesto. Perhaps that would draw the rat out of his lair.

After putting the last flourish on the missive and tying it with a ribbon, Al-Cid sat back in his chair, feeling the gravitational tug of the upcoming landing in Rabanastre. Why had he chosen to throw in his lot with Azlan? Al-Cid misliked the feeling that Azlan was pulling on his strings. Tiesto could be crude, but at least a man always knew where he stood. Azlan was far slipperier.

The Asura paused, and her engines kicked up the familiar whine of a landing pattern; just over the noise, Al-Cid thought he heard a rap on his door, and he raised his voice. "Come!"

The door slid open, and Ana appeared, her hand on the frame.

"I'm not going to say I approve," she said, "because you know that I do not. We need you in Rozarria, not ensconced in the palace at Rabanastre." She stepped inside, just far enough for the door to close behind her. "But I suspect that your offer was not made only from political calculation. Am I right?"

Al-Cid looked away, toward the window, to the towers of Rabanastre, the shell of the Bahamut casting an early morning shadow over the city. "I cannot say," he replied. "Not until I see her again. But you may speak truly."

Ana crossed the room and came up next to him, taking his arm, and planting a kiss on his cheek. "If I do, and she accepts your suit, then I believe I may approve, after all. It is long past time for you, Cid."

He looked at her, almost nose to nose. "If you are imagining that I might limit myself to one woman, even if I do marry, you don't know me as well as you thought. I will have my flock to tend, after all."

"Still." She squeezed his arm, then let her gaze fall on the note in his hand. "Is that for the queen?"

Al-Cid shook his head. "Andros. I am making one last bid for his attention. Martina is tasked with delivering the message as soon as we arrive."

"Which should be in mere moments." Ana patted his upper arm. "Escort me to the dock?"

Al-Cid stepped away enough to make his sister a formal leg. "With pleasure."

Together they walked through the door, past Martina who took the note with a look, exchanging it for his glasses, which he slipped onto his nose. Then she fell into step behind them, following them down the hallway and toward the exit. Azlan was already there, gripping the railing with one hand and his wife with the other; the gangway had already opened with the ship still in motion, and wind whipped through the bay. He looked over his shoulder and caught Al-Cid's eye.

"Kissed and made up, did we?" He faced forward again, then pointed. "And look who beat us here."

Al-Cid peered downward, holding his hair in place against the blowing wind, and followed Azlan's finger to the Eden. "I thought they weren't coming until tomorrow."

Azlan shrugged. "I suppose his plans changed. I wonder if Father is along, or whether he intends to arrive separately at the time originally anticipated."

"We'll find out soon enough." The Asura passed through the eye of the private royal Aerodrome, offered to arriving dignitaries for this event, and it closed above them, Al-Cid blinking in the suddenly-dim light. The ship set down, and then he stepped aside, allowing Azlan and his wife to go first. Al-Cid gestured for Ana to go before him, and she did so with a nod of her head; as usual, he took up the rear, a gaggle of courtiers behind them all, including, he noticed, Martina, the letter tucked safely into her hand.

Together, they approached the knot of people standing in the passageway to the palace. Tiesto stood at the center, exchanging pleasantries with Ondore. Next to him was Roderigio, who was shaking hands with Randal Azelas. Ashe was there, too, looking on; she turned and, seeing them, lifted a hand in greeting.

"Azlan, Ana, Al-Cid. Welcome back to Rabanastre," she said. "I trust your flight was pleasant?"

"Perfectly uneventful." Azlan bowed to her, took her hand for a perfunctory kiss; Ana curtsied and Al-Cid bowed from the waist, holding her eyes. As he rose, he tried to read her face, and failed. Was she pleased to see him, or was it just natural politeness? He ached to see her alone, even while knowing it was likely impossible.

"I am glad to hear it." Ashe turned back to Roderigio. "We have readied quarters for you and your retinue in the east wing of the palace. If you would follow me?" Behind them, Al-Cid could hear the glossair rings of the ships spinning up as they prepared to depart for their berths in the city Aerodrome, and conversation became impossible. Looking around, he noted that Martina was gone -- most likely, she had returned to the ship to get into town and seek out Andros, saving the time and trouble of excusing herself from the palace. "Smart girl," he murmured to himself, and then he fell silent, following the party into the warrens of the palace.

-x-

The rap on the door came far more quickly than Al-Cid had expected. He rose as it opened to admit a slightly disheveled Martina, who met his eyes with a nod.

"At the Sandsea, sunset."

"Very good." Al-Cid frowned. "That seems quick, given how ardently he dodged my requests the last time I was here."

"'Twas invoking Tiesto's name, I believe." Martina sat down, perched on the edge of the couch. "He seemed quite confident of your Lord Brother's regard."

"Hmm." Joining her on the couch, Al-Cid draped his arm around her and pulled her back. "Ah well. If the universe grants us a gift, who are we to refuse it? Come, sit with me for a time before I must depart."

Martina nestled into his side, years of familiarity drawing her close. Al-Cid grazed her temple with a light kiss before closing his eyes and tipping his head back against the couch. The room was warm, filled with afternoon sunlight, and in this state of contentment he fell into a light sleep, images of Ashe and Martina tripping through his muddled but pleasant dreams.

It seemed only moments passed before the sun's rays were falling on his face, their low angle serving as his wake-up call. He opened his eyes, sat up straight, and found himself alone, Martina presumably having busied herself with preparations for the formal events to come. Just as well; he would not have brought her on this errand regardless. Bundling into his cloak, he made his way out of the palace and through the city streets, making his way to the Sandsea and the employee entrance that Lin had told him of. She awaited him just behind the doorway, a glass of ale already in hand.

"Thank you, my sweet." Al-Cid greeted her with a kiss, then took the glass. "Show me the way."

"We'll go up the back way to the balcony." Lin led him through the bustling kitchen and then a small door that came out next to the Mark Board. Al-Cid followed her past the bar, up the stairs and to a table in the back, where he settled in to wait.

The tavern was crowded, convivial, the name of Queen Ashelia on every man's lips. Buzz regarding the coronation, whether Ashe would claim Nabradia, which if any of the rumors regarding an impending marriage might be true filled the air, along with speculation regarding which dignitaries would attend and which merchants would benefit.

Al-Cid hid behind his glass and his sunglasses, scanning the room for Andros. "A slight man," Lin had told him, "and tall, with pale brown hair. Just another Nabradian among many, but I'll point him out to you." Finally, nearly an hour past the appointed time, Al-Cid sat up with a scowl.

"If he has wasted my time yet again..."

"Not this time, Margrace." The voice buzzed in his ear, and he nearly jumped as he turned around to see that the man at the table next to him -- the one with the long black hair and stooping walk that Al-Cid had dismissed immediately upon seeing him climb the stairs -- had pulled his chair close.

Al-Cid turned his scowl on Lin. "I thought you told me--"

"Please, my lord, don't blame Lin," Andros interrupted smoothly. "She had no idea that I planned to attend in disguise." He tugged back on his hair, just far enough for Al-Cid to know it for a wig. "Now, won't you invite me to join you at this well-secluded table?"

"Be my guest." Al-Cid swept his arms outward, and Andros scooted his chair up to the table. "Lin, another drink if you please, and for the gentleman as well?"

"Sure thing." Lin rose and cleared the empty glasses into her arms. Once she was gone, Al-Cid leaned down onto an elbow and stared across the table at Andros.

"So, you are here. After nearly a year of ignoring my messages. Why the delay, and why today's subterfuge?"

Andros raised an eyebrow. "I was acting on orders, of course. Keeping my distance from any connection with Rozarria. Prince Tiesto made his requirements quite plain: I was to avoid any appearance of a connection between him and myself. Did you not realize? I'm surprised he didn't tell you."

Al-Cid's mouth went dry, but he kept his shrug casual. "You may have found that Tiesto is not always as forthcoming as he ought to be. Intelligence operations are not his forte, which is why he keeps me on retainer." The lie came smoothly off his tongue, and Andros's simple nod in response emboldened him to continue in that vein. "I imagine Tiesto will be pleased that you have kept such an important secret."

Lin reappeared, put two glasses of ale on the table, then left without a word; Al-Cid picked up his drink and took a sip that he made appear to be much larger with a flourish, and noted that Andros downed a substantial portion of his in one gulp. He could see Andros squaring his shoulders, puffing up with pride. "And so I have. It's been difficult, I can tell you, especially with things looking so well for us now. Tiesto's influence in Rozarria increasing, you getting cozy with Queen Ashelia. All the pieces in place for a permanent alliance between our countries, eh? All it wants is for Tiesto to take the throne."

Al-Cid nodded. "A plan many years in the making. But has it not been a trial for you?"

"You speak the truth, my lord. Being exiled here, risking myself in war when so many of my compatriots were safe in Rozarria..." Andros shook his head. "But I understand. Coming to Rozarria, so close on the heels of my trip to Archades to plant intelligence at Tiesto's orders? I might as well have carried a signpost with me across the boarder. I agreed then, and still agree: best it was done quietly, and kept quiet. Soon enough time will have passed that I will be able to make a move."

Covering his excitement at this near-confirmation of Jasca's rumors with another sip of wine, Al-Cid then set the glass down on the table. "You will be rewarded for your service," was all that he said. Was this enough to take to Azlan? Did he dare prod for something more explicit? He chose to take a chance. "But do you not fear that opinion will turn against Tiesto if the truth comes out? I tell you now, if he had confined this scheme to me in advance, I would have counseled him against it."

Andros shook his head. "Ah, but can Tiesto really be held responsible for the destruction of Nabudis? He could not have known about the nethicite. At worst, provoking an Archadian attack should have resulted in some small bombardment, easy enough for Tiesto's forces to stop, and rebuild after. And Dalmasca would not have come into it at all, but for the suddenness of Nabudis's fall. No, no. I think the people of Nabradia will see that, and keep the blame on Vayne where it belongs, once they come to understand that Rozarrian rule is best for us all."

A chill raced down Al-Cid's spine, a shudder he had to fight to repress. Such callous disregard for the lives that would have been lost, even to a conventional war... he had never imagined that Tiesto's lust for power could be so all-consuming as to override his common decency. Finishing his beer, he forced himself to chuckle. "Perhaps so, perhaps so. Well, thank you for risking a public appearance with me. I am here to advise you that Tiesto is here for the ceremony; if you attend, you should continue to keep your distance. No one is yet ready to go public."

"Of course." Andros brought his hands together and bowed in his seat. "Whatever my lord requires. Should I expect him to call a meeting?"

"I know not the specifics of his plans; perhaps." Al-Cid hoped not; that would give the game away as surely as anything. "And now, I must go. Thank you for your time." He stood and, with a quick bow, hurried away, his thoughts and his stomach both in turmoil.

-x-

Night had just fallen, and Ashe had finally been able to claim some time for herself. The requisite meetings with all the leaders of Ivalice, including, to her surprise, messengers from Jote and the Garif, had taken most of the day, along with one last closed meeting of her council, at which all the debate had centered around one issue, circling back to an unavoidable conclusion: despite the objections of certain factions, she would be crowned Queen of Nabradia in two days.

A full day, so many projects to consume her time and attention, and yet one thing, one man had been at the back of her thoughts the entire time. She sat back in her chair, a cup of tea in her hand -- she had been too busy to eat a full dinner, but a light supper would be delivered shortly -- and let the memories free: Balthier, on the deck of the Galbana, his silence on the Strahl, his appearance right here in this chamber, the night just passed in the contentment of his arms. All the trappings of an affair, from stormy courtship through consummation and then parting, packed into the space of a few short days. She had bid him farewell at dawn as he left through her bedroom window, making his way to Fran on the roof; it had hurt her heart to watch him go, but it was a relief, too, to have it done, the nagging question set to rest.

So she told herself, and so she required herself to believe.

Ashe sighed and set down the cup. Balthier was a distraction she had not needed; now he was gone, and she could get back to business. She stood and went to her desk, taking the quill and sharpening the tip before she sat down. Pulling a sheet of parchment free, she took a deep breath, dipped the quill in the inkwell, and began setting down the words of her missive to the Nabradian people, inviting them to become her people now.

-x-

"Yes, enter." Azlan's voice came through the door, and Al-Cid pushed it open, then shut it. He took a swift look around the room, empty but for Azlan at the table and his valet standing by the entrance. Walking over to the window, Al-Cid closed that as well before turning around to look at Azlan.

"We must speak," he said. "Now. Alone."

Azlan lifted his chin to the valet, who bowed and then departed, letting the door to the side room close with a click. Then Azlan turned to Al-Cid. "Speak. Did you meet with Andros?"

Al-Cid nodded, crossed his arms across his chest. "He... confirmed it. It is as the rumors say. Tiesto conspired with his Nabradian confederates to provoke Vayne into an attack." He could barely finish the sentence, clamping his teeth around the last words to keep the gorge from rising again.

Azlan's face stayed perfectly blank as he responded with a slow nod. "So."

"So." Al-Cid dropped his arms and shivered, as though to shake off the muck he felt as though he'd been swimming in since his meeting with Andros. "The information is yours. Do with it what you will. Just keep me out of it." Head held high, he marched out of the room, letting the door slam behind him. He was going to his quarters, and he was going to have a bath before bed, and he was going to pray to forget that any of this had ever happened.


	5. Chapter 5

"Thank you all for coming." Ashe stood, hands at her sides, and considered over the personages assembled in her audience chamber. First Larsa seated on the high-backed chair, Basch standing behind him, back to the wall. Next to them, the Lords Margrace: Roderigio crushing into the sofa, a glass of wine in his hand, Azlan seated on his right, Tiesto's meaty fingers resting on the sofa's upholstered back. Lastly, Ondore stood by the door, also holding a glass, his expression warm and supportive. The most powerful men in Ivalice, all dressed in their finery for her coronation dinner; tomorrow, she would officially become one of their number. "I would speak on a delicate matter, in private, before tonight's festivities and tomorrow's ceremony."

Larsa leaned forward in his seat, hands resting on his thighs. "Would this be in regards to Nabradia, Your Majesty?"

She responded with a swift look in his direction. "One and the same."

"Ah." Larsa tipped his head to the side. "I confess, I am eager to hear your decision. When last we spoke, you were still weighing your options."

Ashe laughed, softly, without mirth. "Was I? Or was I merely stalling before I bowed to the inevitable?" She shook her head. "I have already notified the Council. I will claim the thrones of Dalmasca and Nabradia both at the ceremony."

Larsa's answering nod was solemn. "I think that is likely for the best. Do you concur, Lord Margrace?"

"I do." After a quick glance at Azlan, who shrugged, Roderigio looked up and over his shoulder. "You will agree as well, I hope."

Behind him, Tiesto tensed, then nodded. "If you recognize Her Majesty Queen Ashelia's claim, how can I do otherwise?" He stepped out from behind the couch and reached across the desk to take her hand in his massive one, and bowed over it. "Congratulations, my lady."

Ashe stood and inclined her head at him in return. "I thank you." She released his hand and stepped back to look around the room. "To dinner, my lords?" She tipped her eyes toward Ondore, who rose from his chair in a smooth motion. He extended his arm, and Ashe took it. Without a word, the two of them walked through the door together, leaving the leaders of the empires to follow.

The walk to the grand hall was short. Ashe could hear the chattering, the crowding, the clinking of glasses. This was the social event of the year, she knew, and the throng would be crowding the entrance, vying to be the first to see her, to speak with her. As she entered the room, a hush fell; as had happened so many times before, every eye turned toward her, every head bowed, every conversation stalled to see whom the queen would grace with her presence.

Ashe did not hesitate; head high, smiling, she approached Vaan and Penelo. They stood at the outskirts of the throng, Penelo smiling in her dancer's garb, Vaan looking awkward but dashing in a white silk shirt, a brocade vest, and loose black pants. She held out her hands to them, first Vaan, whom she kissed on the cheek, and then Penelo grabbed her into a hug. "You look beautiful!"

"I was about to say the same." Ashe stepped back to look at her former comrades, the two she could only think of as children despite their closeness in age. "Thank you for coming, both of you. This night would not have been complete otherwise."

Vaan scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks. Hope you don't mind if I keep it simpler tomorrow. This thing is hot!"

Penelo elbowed him in the ribs. "You said you wouldn't complain!" She tossed Ashe an apologetic look. "Boys," she sighed with a shake of her head. "Can't take them anywhere."

"It's all right." Ashe smiled at her yet again. "Did you play a role in this transformation?"

"Uh huh!" Penelo brightened. "I made him come with me to Bhujerba for some shopping. Bhujerban fashion is all the rage right now, you know." She turned to Ondore and curtsied prettily to him. "I appreciated spending some leisure time in your city, Marquis. It's a beautiful place."

Ondore inclined his head. "Thank you, Lady Penelo. It is good to hear so, especially from one who might be less inclined to think well of it."

She waved a hand in the air. "Oh, that was hardly the city's fault. And your palace is really nice too."

This time, Ashe saw a touch of amusement behind Ondore's bow. "I appreciate the compliment." He looked down at Ashe with a slight tug to her arm, and she responded with a tiny nod before turning back to Penelo and Vaan.

"Please, come find me again before you leave. Thank you again for coming." And she moved on, to the next knot of people, and the next: local nobles, foreign dignitaries, Ondore's people and representatives of every Nabradian faction. They had all begun to blur together before she reached her table at the center of the room; then, only steps away, she spied a welcome and familiar face, which she looked up into with a relieved smile. "Al-Cid."

"Your Majesty." Al-Cid swept into a deep bow. He was, as always, richly appointed, this time in a forest green shirt, open nearly to the waist, with billowing sleeves and ruffled cuffs. The choker around his neck was wrought silver, set with fine emeralds. "I hope this evening finds you well."

"It does." She took his hand, and he kissed it, lingering as long as appearances would allow. It was the first time she had touched him since leaving Ambervale, and she found herself clinging to the contact. He was so solid. Warm. Safe.

Tightening her fingers around his polite grip, she stepped a hair closer to him. "May I request your presence at the Queen's table?"

His brow, which had been slightly furrowed with some worry, smoothed in surprise. "I would be honored."

"Good." Ashe let her other hand slip free of Ondore's arm. "Uncle, will you see that another place is set at my table?"

"Whatever you require, Your Majesty." Ondore's expression betrayed nothing as he bowed to her, then to Al-Cid. "Margrace." He turned on his heel, hand in the air to summon a servant, and Ashe transferred her hand to Al-Cid's elbow. He covered her fingers with his own and led her the last few steps to the table at the center of the room before pulling out her chair.

Ashe sat, then indicated the chair on her right. "That seat was assigned to the Marquis, but I'm sure he won't mind moving down one." Al-Cid took the suggestion and the chair, and then Ashe nodded around the table. "Ladies and gentleman, I'm sure you all know Prince Al-Cid Margrace, younger son of Emperor Roderigio?"

She sat back in her seat as introductions were made and pleasantries exchanged: Azelas had met him previously at the negotiations at the close of the war, and he knew some of the other councilors from those same treaty meetings. The Nabradians, he seemed not to know, although she detected an odd reaction from two of them -- a stiffness in Lord Refa, contrasting with an eager, almost conspiratorial expression in Victor Andros's eyes as he gave Al-Cid a hearty handshake.

"So, you know Her Majesty, eh?" Andros asked as he retook his seat. He was a wealthy merchant, a member of the Rozarrian-supporting faction, and acquainted with Thierry, who sat on his left, but otherwise Ashe did not know much about him. She wondered how he had garnered a seat at her table. "How did you come by such an august acquaintance?"

"We were introduced by Lord Larsa, if you can believe it." Al-Cid favored Ashe with a brilliant smile. "During the war. We all discovered our common interest in peace, and the three of us worked together to realize that goal. A goal we can all be in accord with, yes?" He lifted his wine glass and glanced first at Andros, then Azelas. "To Her Majesty, and to peace!"

"Hear hear!" Azelas raised his own glass and reached across the table to clink it against Al-Cid's; the other men and women at the table followed his lead. "It is, indeed, our common cause, and one I hope to take into the years ahead." He lifted the wine to his lips and drank. "Thank you, my lord, for your continuing commitment to Ivalice."

Al-Cid tipped his chin. "It is both an honor and a pleasure to serve," he replied. He turned his smile on Lady Azelas, who was seated between him and her husband. "Have you been to Rozarria, my lady?"

"Alas not," she replied. "It is a long flight, as you well know, and of course tensions between the Empires kept many of us from traveling. But I do hope that improved relations in Ivalice will allow leisure travel to resume."

"As do I." Al-Cid took another drink. "It would be a great pleasure of mine to see more Dalmascan and Archadian citizens on our streets, and for my people to freely travel the world as well. Such exchanges would only promote understanding and peace between our nations."

Out of the corner of her eye, Ashe thought she saw Refa's mouth twist, and she turned to him. "Do you disagree, Lord Refa?"

Refa sat back in his seat, brow furrowed. "Not as such, Your Majesty. But I do wonder if it would not be a misplace of our focus, when there are such urgent problems still about in our world. Cities unbuilt, orphans unhoused, children unfed. Would we travel to Old Archades, or Dalmasca's Lowtown, or the ruins of Nabudis? Those are as much the reality of Ivalice as grand palaces and pretty scenery."

"There is truth in your words." Ashe frowned. "Aid to the poor and the struggling must remain foremost in our minds, even as we celebrate our good fortune. But I believe that the opening of Ivalice could serve an even greater purpose, by keeping war off our doorstep, allowing us to concentrate our resources on serving the less fortunate."

Al-Cid tapped his fork against his glass. "Yes. Perfectly said, Your Majesty." He bestowed yet another smile on her, and she warmed, enough that she did not mind the scowl that remained on Refa's face.

The conversation moved to more neutral topics as dinner arrived and segued into dessert. Soon, the music was starting, and couples were moving onto the floor to dance. Ashe flicked her eyes to Ondore, who caught her expression, first raising his eyebrows, then responding with a small shake of his head. No, he seemed to say, he would not be claiming the first dance; so instead she turned to Al-Cid and held out her hand to him. "Would you do me the honor of escorting me to the dance floor?" she asked.

He took her hand and stood, raising her out of her seat. "Your Majesty, the honor is surely mine." She stepped off the platform and he followed, slipping an arm around her to whirling her into the waltz as they hit the floor.

"I have wanted to thank you for the gift," she said with a smile. "The crystal rose. It was a thoughtful gesture."

He dipped his head. "Ah, good. I had hoped it was not too presumptuous of me to send it."

"Not at all. I appreciate the tangible reminder of such a pleasant time." Ashe leaned in closer. "My thanks for tonight as well. You have made this the most bearable state dinner in many a moon."

"It was my pleasure, of course." Then he paused, as if to say more; he did not, but the thought came clear in Ashe's mind: she had only to say the word, and he would be at her side for the next affair of state, and all the others after that. The temptation was there, hanging in front of her, and as she looked up into his handsome face, felt his warm hand tightening on the small of her back, she wondered what was stopping her.

The thought stayed on her mind as they danced together, through the first song and the second; as the third begun, she found herself facing Ondore, who tapped Al-Cid on the shoulder. Al-Cid glanced behind him, then stepped aside with a bow. He leaned in close to Ashe's ear. "Thank you, my lady; if I could claim the honor of the last dance?"

"You may," she replied, and then she and Ondore were off, dancing more sedately, more formally, but still she found she was enjoying herself. Ondore was followed by Azelas, then Larsa, then, to her surprise, Tiesto, who was quite light on his feet for such a large man. She rushed to keep up with him until the dance ended with a break in the music.

"Thank you, Majesty." Tiesto bowed to her. "You are a most excellent hostess, and I look forward to getting to know you and your lovely country better."

Ashe curtsied to him in return, and then made her way back to the table. It was empty but for Refa and his wife, and Thierry, who had left an empty chair between himself and his countryman. Refa's face seemed painted into a permanent scowl; Lady Refa stared politely into space; and so Ashe turned to Thierry.

"A most excellent dinner, Your Majesty. And you seem to be enjoying the dancing." Thierry lifted an eyebrow with a half smile.

"It is good to celebrate again," Ashe said. "I'm sure you can agree, Lord Refa?"

"Hmph!" Refa stood, and his wife with him. "We shall see, on the morrow."

He left, shoulders hunched, and Ashe watched him go. Thierry did as well, and then he looked at Ashe, shaking his head. "Pay him no mind. He is only annoyed that his faction did not gain the throne for themselves, and that you seem to be developing a friendship with the Rozarrians."

"Not that you have an opinion on that score," Ashe retorted, and Thierry chuckled.

"I do not deny it," he said. "The more protection Nabradia can muster from the Archadians, the better. On the other hand, I know how independent-minded you are. Both from experience, and from speaking to Rasler. It was one of the things he most admired about you."

Ashe turned to look at Thierry, saw a tinge of sadness in his eyes, and she reached over the table to cover his hand. "Thank you."

His answering smile was wistful. "The music is starting again; do you care to dance?"

"I'd be delighted." She stood up, and he escorted her back to the floor.

-x-

The music was over, the remains of the feast cleared, and Al-Cid walked down the hall with Ashe, alone together at last. Truly alone, not a guard or a courtier or a maid in sight -- not even Martina was with them, for Al-Cid had sent her back to the wing reserved for the Rozarrians. Ashe's hand curled around his elbow, warm and smooth and so right in its place. In front of the door to her apartments, she stopped, and turned to face him.

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. She had saved not only the last dance for him, but the last three, and her face was still flushed, a wash of pink across her cheeks and her nose contrasting with her white dress, a sparkle in her eyes. "My lady," he breathed. "If I might be so bold..."

She chuckled and brought her arms around his waist. "You may," she answered, and he came down for a kiss, slow and sweeping across her mouth.

Then she broke away. "Thank you for escorting me tonight," she said. "I look forward to seeing you on the morrow. You will sit in honor with your father, I hope?"

He bowed to her, kissed her hand, hid his disappointment at not being asked into her chambers with pleasure at her request for his honored presence tomorrow. Perhaps tomorrow night, matters would be different. "If he does not give me a place in his row, I will be but a seat behind."

"I am pleased to hear it." She smiled at him. "Good night."

"Good night." He turned smartly on his heel and walked away.

-x-

Ashe watched him go, a light smile playing over her lips; then, a few steps from her door, a soft noise from behind the curtains to her right made her pause. She considered them for a moment -- _was that motion the wind, or-- no. Of course not._ With a heavy sigh, she shook her head. "Show yourself."

Silence, and then Balthier stepped out, pushing the heavy cloth aside. "So, the rumors are true after all. Confirmed with my own eyes, on the dance floor and again outside my lady's chamber. Perhaps 'twas a mistake to stay here and see it for myself, but--"

She stopped his words with her mouth, pushing him back into the curtains and against the wall. She let herself feel it all, even more than the night before: the year of loneliness, of fear, of need. His hands were in her hair, his tongue in her mouth, stroking and plundering. She freed him from the wall and walked them backwards, blindly groping for the doorknob, pushing it inward, leading him into her suite without letting go, without coming up for air.

Together they crashed through the sitting room and into her bedchamber. Ashe kicked off her shoes, pulled off his vest and shirt, stepped out of her dress, let him pull her hairpins free. She sucked on his lips, on his tongue, wanting to taste every inch of him as she became naked in his arms. Together they fell to the bed, together they came, joining their bodies into one, frenzied with shared need as he rolled atop her, entered her, stroked her until she dissolved, and followed her into the abyss with a shout.

Her body still wracked with tremors, Ashe clung to him, her mouth against his neck, breathing hard. He held her in place until the shaking passed; finally spent, she collapsed against him once again and fell almost immediately into a deep, soothing sleep.

-x-

Slowly, Ashe pulled herself out of the fog of warmth and contentment. Her skin was tender, sensitive -- she could feel the smoothness of the sheets, the warmth of Balthier against her. She rolled over, tighter into him, and allowed herself a soft moan of pleasure.

"You're awake." She heard the rumble of the words through his chest, and she pushed through the final gauze of sleep and back into the conscious world. Opening her eyes, she saw him, and gave him a light kiss. For a few moments they just lay there together, breathing, luxuriating.

Then it passed, and the realities of the future came back. "How much do you know?"

"Enough." He propped himself up on one elbow and brushed the hair back out of her face. "So. Are you going to marry him?"

Ashe shook her head. "I would fain not marry anyone."

"I have no doubt of that." Balthier brought his hand around to frame her cheek. "But you have not answered my question."

With a sigh, Ashe pulled free of his touch and sat up, pulling the coverlet around her shoulders. "It is, as these things go, a most compelling offer. An alliance with Al-Cid would be unlikely to alienate Larsa while gaining us the true friendship of Rozarria at last. Elements of Nabradia remain at issue, but I suspect I could manage them." She looked sharply at Balthier. "And most importantly, he would be content to leave rule to me. He has no desire to hold a throne."

"But he would wield influence over one." Balthier sat up as well. "His personal power advances, as does his cause."

Ashe shook her head. "Al-Cid does not seek greater power for Rozarria. He wishes for peace and balance in the region, above all else."

"And balance is truly what you wish for?" Balthier countered. "What if you see an opportune moment for Dalmasca's position to advance? Would he counsel you against such a move, in the name of balance? Balance may not always be in your best interest. Not even peace will always be in your best interest."

"Now that's a cynical thought." Ashe crossed her arms.

Balthier shrugged. "After seventeen years in Archades, cynical thoughts come more naturally than breathing. How could I do otherwise?"

Ashe did not respond to this question, which was clearly rhetorical; instead, she looked at him, studying his face, the lines of his brow and his jaw, so like and yet unlike his father, his elder brother. It was a shame that a man both born and bred to the political game, and evidencing such skill at it, should have so little interest in playing. Finally, she spoke, voicing a question of her own.

"Why did you wait so long to return the ring?"

For a time he was silent, his hands idly stroking the coverlet. When he finally did speak, it was with a calm tone, but he did not meet her eyes. "Because you could not leave, any more than I could stay."

Ashe's answering words were quiet, and he leaned in to hear. "You could at the least have provided some surety that you lived. You and Fran both."

He looked at her then, something very much like surprise in his eyes. "You had any doubt? I was the leading man, after all."

A hard lump rose in Ashe's throat; either a laugh or a sob, she could not tell which. "That depends on whether the play is a romance or a tragedy, and I knew not which sort was being written."

"Ah." He pulled her hand into his, lacing their fingers together. "And has the Celestial Poet yet made a decision?"

"If so, he has not enlightened me." Ashe restated her question. "Why did you return the ring?"

"It was the terms of our agreement." His voice was low, and she had to strain to hear him. "I held it until I found something more valuable."

Ashe swallowed, but did not pull free. "May I ask what?"

He looked away, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the back of her index finger. "The respect I knew I would earn from you by giving it back."

Her response was soft, when it finally came. "Do you know what was more valuable to me than the ring? The note that came with it, written in your hand. The incontrovertible proof that you survived the wreck of the Bahamut. The ability to breathe again after a year of waiting. Knowing that you were alive, somewhere in the world, that you--"

Before the last word was out of her mouth, Balthier had turned, cupping his face in her hand, and was kissing her again, pushing her back into the pillows that lined the headboard. She clung to him, pulling him in, devouring him, closing every gap of space between them, closing her mind to the world, the past, the future, anything that was not Balthier in her arms, in her bed, here and now.

The moment lasted forever, until Balthier spoke. "Princess," he murmured, and the title jarred her back to the present. She pulled away, putting a hand over his mouth, and his eyes lowered. "Queen," he corrected himself softly.

"Queen." She repeated the word, and nodded. "It... changes things. In ways I wish it might not."

Balthier looked straight at her, unflinching. "Do you wish me to depart?"

Ashe found his hands, winding her fingers through his, and squeezed. "If you are not to stay for the crowning, best for you to be gone by dawn. But until then..."

Without another word, he kissed her again, and she let herself go, her mouth hard against his, and she let herself taste one last night of freedom on his lips.

-x-

Ashe began her procession at the city gates.

It seemed odd, waiting here to make her way through the city as she had once before, nearly three years ago. The world had been so different then. She looked back on that day and barely recognized herself -- hiding behind her veil, on a parade float for fear of mussing her dress, a city eager to celebrate in the shadow of war. Now she rode alone, perched on chocobo-back, the ceremony at the end of the procession not much more than a formality. For the first time in what felt like an age, she reached for Rasler's ring on her finger and twisted it in a circle. "If you were here," she murmured. "What would you think of me?"

"He would be proud of you, Your Majesty." Ondore's words echoed in the archway as rode his own beast past the soldiers. "Raminas knew you would make a fine Queen someday, even if these were not the circumstances he envisioned."

Ashe decided not to correct him, instead leaning out to give him a peck on the cheek. "Thank you for riding with me, Uncle."

Ondore dipped his head. "I could find no better way to show my support for you."

As he spoke, the gears began to turn; with a great clanking noise, the chains pulled open the doors of Southgate and the light poured in. Ashe had opted for a small retinue of soldiers, rather than the musicians that had led her wedding procession, and she wore the dress uniform that she had commissioned -- plate armor of darkened silver and burnished brass, the Treaty Blade strapped to her hip, a dark blue cloak emblazoned with the golden seal of Dalmasca billowing from her shoulders. Ashe prayed that she would never be called to lead her people into battle, but she wanted them to know her capable of doing so. Lucie waited for her at the entrance to the palace, gown at the ready; she would change into more traditional finery after the parade was done.

With a click of her tongue and a flick of the reins, Ashe's chocobo surged forward, and together they rode out into the city. Two soldiers in front, five more plus Ondore behind, she found herself surrounded by a cheering throng, waving at them as she went, a smile on her face. She drank it all in: the applause of her people, their smiles in her eyes, their well-wishes in her ears, a sea of Humes and Bangaa, Moogles and Seeq, even a handful of Viera. Through the Southern Plaza, over the new skyway, to the palace gates she rode; as she passed through, she drew the sword and brandished it over her head, the blade flashing in the sunlight.

"To a free Dalmasca!" she cried, and the crowd roared with her, the sound of it washing over her in waves. They were calling her name, she realized, and it chilled her, the shivers down her back part thrill and part fear. She sheathed the weapon and dismounted from her bird, leaving it in the hands of one of the soldiers, and she walked up to the palace steps, the solid presence of Ondore a comfort at her back.

Her people waited for her there: Vaan and Penelo, Randal Azelas and his father, the other ranking nobles of her court. The honored guests of other nations awaited her in the throne room, but this moment was not about them -- it was for her loyal subjects, the people of Dalmasca. She met the excited smiles of Vaan and Penelo with a warm nod; if only Basch could stand there with them. Instead, she turned to the aged Duke, Shison Azelas, who held the honored place at the center, acting as Master of Ceremony, a role that the Gran Kilitas had filled for her father, and all the kings before him. A quick pang, at that; then she bowed her head and crossed her arms across her chest.

"Your Majesty." The duke dipped his chin in return, and then to Ashe's surprise, he struggled down to one knee, and every other person in the plaza followed suit. Ashe swallowed at the sight of a thousand heads, bowed in fealty to her, and felt the responsibility of rule weigh down on her as never before. Tenderly, she rested her gloved hand on the back of the duke's head.

"Rise, faithful servant," she said, then looked around and projected her voice. "All of you," she added. "Please, rise, and join with me. Together, we will make Dalmasca even greater than it was!"

The cheering swelled again, and Ashe strode into the palace, her people at her back, and made for the antechamber where she would swap this suit of armor for a costume no less imposing.

-x-

She emerged half an hour later, transformed from a soldier into a queen. Lucie had designed the gown herself, a fine garment of ivory and gold trimmed in navy, and a necklace studded with sapphires. Trumpets blared, and she entered from the back of the room, walking alone down the aisle, not daring to look to the right or the left. Ashe would be with the crowd later, sharing in their celebration; this moment was for her, and her memories. Memories of being in this room, her father sitting on his throne, wearing the crown that had now been altered to fit on her head. Raminas had been crowned long before Ashe's birth, but she could still picture him, walking the same steps she had walked, his head high and proud as he accepted the responsibilities of rule.

Ashe had not been born to rule, but standing here, the horns ringing through the stone hall, the eyes of a nation upon her, she could not imagine being anywhere else.

It was with that thought that she finished the long, long walk to the dais and Duke Azelas, who stood in front of the throne, the silver and gold crown of Dalmasca resting on a royal blue pillow in his hands. The trumpeters blew their last triumphant note, and Ashe knelt before the Duke, bowed her head, and waited for the weight of the crown to land on her brow.

"Hoy!" The shout shattered the solemn air of the hall, and Ashe looked up, mouth gaping wide. She knew that voice, and the face that belonged with it was swinging out of the loft, rappelling down a hastily-thrown cable with his partner alongside. He held the cable with one hand and a gun in the other, aimed at the balcony behind her. "Assassins!" Before Balthier hit the ground, he fired, and with a scream, a man tumbled over the low balcony wall, bow and arrow falling out of his hands.

Screams broke out, and more bows appeared, in the hands of a knot of men and women wrapped in the silver and gold of Nabradia, pointing at Ashe, who scrambled back, behind Balthier and Fran, who had drawn her own bow.

"Protect the Queen!" Basch cried; the men of Dalmasca rallied to the sound of his voice, subconsciously reacting to the call of their former leader, and he led them all as they charged the stairs and swarmed the balcony, swords drawn and shouting. Vaan was among them, and Penelo, too, whirling a staff over her head as she chanted a spell of destruction. The other Judges paused only for a moment, bewildered by their leader's actions; then half of them joined in while the others former ranks around Larsa. The Rozarrians were quick to follow, Al-Cid at the vanguard, pistol drawn, his face painted with rage. Ashe's hands twitched, and she dearly wished for the sword and armor she had left behind. Why had she not come armed?

"My lady, to safety!" Ashe turned, and saw Lord Refa, who had fought himself free of the throng; she went to him, and then stopped dead when she saw the sword in his hand.

"Safety, or my execution?" She took a step back, and his friendly mask dropped, his mouth twisting into a snarl as he rushed her, leaping forward, bringing the sword down on her head. Making a desperate grab for his hands, she caught them only an inch from her face; she pushed back in a bid to knock him off balance, but she only succeeded in deflecting the blow. The blade crashed to the floor, clanging against the stone, and Refa glaring up at her as he pulled back for another attack.

"Balthier!" She cried out his name without thought; out the corner of her eye, she thought she saw him turn away from the man he grappled, but then the sword was bearing down on her again, and she had no more opportunity to consider rescue. This time she dodged, forced him to swing around to make another pass.

"Traitor!" Refa shouted. "Traitor, to tie yourself to a man of Rozarria! No Rozarrian will ever be heir to Nabradia's throne!" He turned his sword on edge, making ready to try and ram her through. Ashe rummaged through her brain, trying to call the right spell to mind -- to slow him, to stop him, to protect herself from harm? It had been too long; a palliative that would once have lived on the tip of her tongue now took too many precious seconds to prepare and cast. She took a deep breath and prepared to grab the sword by its tip, hoping that it would not cut her fingers too deeply--

And then a bullet took Refa in the shoulder. It was his left shoulder, and so he did not drop the sword, only flinched, but it was enough. Ashe stepped sideways and in, grasping his hands yet again and twisting his fingers until the sword fell free. She snatched the weapon up from the floor and swung it at him; though she did not make contact, it was enough to knock him over and onto his back. Swift as the wind, Ashe had the blade's edge at his throat, and then Balthier was there, gun trained on his face.

"You have attacked your queen, and your life is forfeit!" she shouted, her voice carrying over the sounds of battle. "Will it be surrender or the sword?"

Refa grabbed at his wounded shoulder, looked up at Ashe, then Balthier, and back at Ashe. The commotion in the room died down as all eyes turned to the threesome that remained on the dais. Ashe flicked her eyes to the side and saw them all: Basch, his helm gone, men of two nations looking sideways at him and beginning to wonder; Vaan and Penelo panting together in a corner; Randal Azelas's brow drawn in worry; and above them all, standing in the balcony, holding a traitor by the collar and at gunpoint, Al-Cid, relief and concern mingling on his face. In the briefest glance, she took all this in, and then she looked back at Refa, her gaze hardening. "Which do you choose?"

With a sigh, Refa let his head fall back against the floor, and he raised his right hand. "I surrender."

Ashe gestured with the sword toward the guards. "Take him away," she said, weary. Then she spotted Victor Andros, inching toward a side exit, and pointed toward him with a toss of her head. "That man as well."

Andros froze first, his eyes wide, and then he bolted -- straight into the arms of Fran, who caught his hands behind his back. Ashe caught Fran's eyes, then nodded.

"Hold them in my office, for questioning. Take the rest to the gaol, for now." As the assassins were rounded up and carted away, Ashe looked first at Balthier, then Basch, then Randal Azelas. A queer tension filled the room as everyone wondered what on earth to do next.

Lord Azelas moved first, striding to the dais, taking his father by the arm and gently pulling him into a chair. "Please, everyone, return to your quarters. We will reconvene for the crowning tomorrow morning." He then walked to Ashe's side, and lightly touched her arm. "My lady, with me?"

Too tired and confused to object, Ashe took his elbow and let him lead her out of the spotlight and into safety, aware only of his solid arm and the comforting presence of Balthier but a few steps behind.

-x-

The nobles, soldiers, and visiting dignitaries filed into the courtyard, where stunned silence was the order of the day, with an undercurrent of shocked whispers. Speculation regarding the assassins, of course: who had planned the attack and why, what factions might exist in Nabradia, and what, if anything, Rozarria might have to do with it. Another murmur common among the throng was the appearance of Captain Basch in a Judges' uniform, if that was indeed Basch and not Gabranth, hazed in a cloak of memory.

Al-Cid thought he likely knew the truth of both situations; his knowledge of Tiesto's machinations in the region sat heavy on his mind, the fear that his dalliance with Ashe had brought her into danger even more so. If any harm were to come to her because of him... The thought was so unsettling that he pushed it out of his mind, only to be replaced by the image of Balthier swinging down onto the stage, guns blazing. He could only admire such audacity, such evidence of loyalty, but something about the way the pirate had stayed on the dais with his princess, the way they had fought together, looked at each other, struck a chord with Al-Cid.

Had they been lovers? Were they still?

It was with these thoughts in mind that Al-Cid approached the Rozarrians, gathered together by a fountain. Tiesto barked orders at his men, Ana and Roderigio spoke quietly, Azlan stood off to the side. Al-Cid considered for moment, then went to Azlan. He feared he might call Tiesto out if they spoke, and he was loathe to be caught in a battle of words with his father right now. The thought that Azlan might be the only one he could trust stuck in his craw, but it was an unavoidable truth.

Azlan looked up at Al-Cid. "So. It appears matters are about to come to a head, with no representative of the Rozarrian Empire present." He tilted his head, raised an eyebrow.

Al-Cid took his meaning. "I will discover what I can." With a light bow to his elder brother, he slipped away, through the crowds, keeping invisible with Martina as his shadow, back into the now-empty throne room, and to the doorway he had seen Ashe use at the end of the commotion. The Viera was there, Balthier's partner Fran, guarding the door with her arms crossed.

"Her Majesty is in private conference," she said.

"And you are the arbiter of who may enter?" Al-Cid shook his head with a weary sigh. "If the Judge Magister is inside, then House Margrace has a right to join the audience."

Fran considered him for a moment, then stepped aside. "On the strength of your honor, I allow you to pass."

Al-Cid bowed to her. "I thank you." He took the last steps to the closed door, then paused with his hand on the handle to look back at Martina.

"Good luck," she murmured, in Rozarrian. He responded with a swift, silent nod, then opened the door.

He found himself inside a small office, crammed full of people. Ashe stood behind the desk, flanked by Ondore and the younger Lord Azelas. Larsa had taken a place by the window, Basch attentive at his side. Refa was tied to a straight-backed wooden chair, Dalmascan soldiers gathered 'round him, and Basch appeared to be keeping a careful eye out as well; Andros sat in a wing-tip chair, unrestrained but for the gun that Balthier kept casually trained on his forehead. The pirate caught Al-Cid's eye, then nodded, gesturing toward the opposite corner, indicating a place to stand.

As he passed, Refa twitched hard in his chair. "What is he doing here?" he snarled. "You should have nothing to do with these Rozarrian scum!"

Ashe did not look away from Refa; her eyes were hard, but her voice was calm. "The Rozarrians have the right to hear the charges you would lay at their feet. Consider Al-Cid their ambassador."

"Hmph!" Refa shook with rage, straining at his bonds. "Your master, more like. I saw you, at the dinner last night. And will you deny that he has sought your hand in marriage?"

A soft muttering rippled through the soldiers; Larsa came half out of his seat; even Basch turned to Ashe in surprise. But it was Ondore who spoke, once he had recovered from a dropped jaw.

"Your Majesty. Is this true?"

Ashe remained calm, though she now lifted her gaze to meet Al-Cid's. He looked back, gave her the tiniest of nods, and she responded in kind. Then she looked at Ondore, then Azelas, and finally at Basch. "As you know, I have received several such offers, and hints at very many more. Yes, Prince Al-Cid did offer for my hand. And I will not deny that I am taking his suit under serious consideration."

Al-Cid's breath caught in his chest for the merest second. Then he let it go, slowly. So a chance for him remained...

She was still speaking, and Al-Cid wrenched his attention back to the moment. "But you cannot believe that I would ever accept any offer, no matter how tempting, without first discussing it with my advisors, my constituents, my neighbors. Certainly you, Uncle, and the representatives of Nabradia. And especially you, Randal. I could never chose a husband, nor even a consort, on my whim alone. Too much rests on the decision. I ask you to trust me in this, as you do in all things."

Her face was on Azelas, but her gaze moved past him, across the room; Al-Cid followed the look, and found that she was looking at Balthier, their eyes locked together, and his heart sank again. Then he chided himself. What was this turmoil? He was behaving like a child.

Ondore bowed his head, and Azelas did as well. She wrenched her eyes away from Balthier and turned them back to her subject. "My Queen. Of course I trust your judgment. I swear to this, and my loyalty to you, now and forevermore." He went down on bended knee, hands clasped to his chest.

Ashe laid a hand on the back of his neck. "Rise, Lord Azelas," she said quietly. "You have proven yourself many times over; I will not ask it of you again." Azelas stood, and Ashe looked around the room, at the soldiers, at Andros, at Refa, and lastly at Al-Cid, her face softening, though not quite into a smile. "Leave me. All of you. We will convene again tomorrow, in the throne room, and learn the truth of this together. Al-Cid, you will see that your father and brothers attend?"

"Of course, Your Majesty." Al-Cid bowed deeply.

"My thanks." She indicated the prisoners with a twist of her head. "Take them to holding cells and ready them for trial. And Roland?" The captain looked up from the knots he was tying around Andros's wrists. "Search the armory for a light rapier or short sword, an appropriate weapon for me to wear at future affairs of state, starting tomorrow. I will not be caught unarmed again."

Al-Cid muffled a smile as Captain Roland stood and made a quick salute. "As you wish, my Queen. I will deliver a suitable weapon to your quarters by morning."

"Very good. Now get these traitors out of my sight!"

Roland nodded sharply, then grasped Andros by the arm and hauled him out of the chair. "Come on, you lot. To the dungeon with you." With a clanking of armor and only a few mutters, the soldiers ushered Refa and Andros out of the room, Refa's face cast downward, Andros sparing only a quick angry glance over his shoulder for Al-Cid, who spread his hands. He had not shared Andros's secrets with anyone in this room; what happened next was not his concern.

Larsa shared a look with Basch, then left as well, hands behind his back. Ondore followed him, then -- with some reluctance -- Azelas, leaving Al-Cid alone in the room with a trio of war heroes. He wended his way through the small forest of furniture, knowing that he, too, must take his leave, but reluctant to do so.

He paused first by Balthier, tipping into a bow. "Thanks to you and your partner for such a fortuitous entrance."

Balthier quirked an eyebrow in response as he holstered his gun. "Never let it be said that I let an opportunity for some drama pass me by."

"Hah! Indeed." Al-Cid turned past Basch with a nod, then advanced to Ashe. She bowed her head to him, and he took her hands over the desk, kissing first one, then the other. "Mere words cannot describe my relief at seeing you safe and well. Perhaps we will speak again on the morrow?"

"Of course." Ashe tightened her fingers against his. "It did not escape notice that you were among the first to leap into the fray at my defense. Thank you."

Al-Cid brushed his lips over her knuckles again. "As I said atop of Bur-Omisace, I would lay down my life to protect yours, were it required of me. True as it was then, it is doubly so now." Releasing her hands, he bowed to her, deeply. "On the morrow, Your Majesty." Without waiting for a response, he left to carry her message to the representatives of House Margrace.

-x-

Ashe stared at the door as it closed behind him, her hands still lightly curled into fists. Al-Cid had made quite a picture, she thought, leaping gracefully over the seats and into the melee while drawing his pistol, all in one smooth motion. She smiled at the memory, then let it go with a sigh. "I should also thank you," she said without moving to look at Balthier, afraid to give him the moment. She kept saying goodbye to him; why would he not stay gone?

"Your continued life is thanks enough," Balthier replied, and with that she did look at him, brows raised.

"That doesn't sound like the pirate I know." A soft snort came from Basch's direction. She lifted her chin. "Any reward you ask for your service, you know I will grant it."

He stood, still, in thought, and then he strode across the room and around the desk. He took her hands in his, much as Al-Cid had, but with a much tighter grip, as though he needed to draw strength from her. "Come with me."

Ashe blinked at him. "What?"

"Come with me." His fingers turned, lacing through hers, and she responded, flexing back without thought. "Let yourself be kidnapped, as you asked of me once before. Feel the freedom you are missing. Worry not about assassins, or the weight of history or of kingdoms. Come with me."

Her head swam. She heard the words, but could make no sense of them. Was Balthier asking her to give up everything she had worked for, had fought for, had killed for? With all her will, she pulled her hands free of his, then looked away. "If you thought I might accept those terms, then you know me not at all."

"No," Balthier agreed. His tone was so calm, so accepting, that Ashe was able to turn back and look at him. "I don't suppose you could. But if circumstances change, if being here ever becomes too much of a burden, the Strahl is at your disposal. Call me, and I will come."

He turned to go, and only Basch's solid presence in the corner kept her from going to him, taking him in her arms, pleading with him not to leave her. Instead, she only raised her voice. "You will stay for tomorrow's trial, and the coronation?"

Looking back, he gave her a sardonic smile. "Miss the ending to this tale? Not likely, Your Majesty. Fran and I will attend."

With that, he was gone, and Ashe was finally able to relax, slumping down into the desk chair, head in her hands. For a long moment she sat there, just breathing. When she was ready, she looked up at Basch, who gazed down at her with concern. "You are in for some trouble, I fear."

Basch spread his hands. "It was bound to happen, someday. If my unmasking was to be in the cause of saving your life, I will accept the price as more than fair."

Ashe let out a shaky laugh. "Still. And now you see the drama my life has become: a parody of a bad romance. Pulled between two men, not to mention all the others that my council and the powers of the world would foist upon me. I would choose none if I could, but I fear that path will close to me sooner rather than later, and I prefer to pick a direction on my own, before that day comes. You know the options laid before me; what would you counsel?"

"It is a difficult decision, to be sure, and as you say, not one to be made lightly, or alone." Basch pulled his hands behind his back and started to pace; Ashe recognized the gesture from many hours spent in council with Larsa, and stifled a laugh. "And perhaps my next words will only complicate your situation, but I feel right in saying them." He turned to face her. "My circumstances will change now. I fear there is no way around it. The only question is as to how. If it could be arranged without bringing too much shame to Larsa, we could make an announcement, clearing my name and putting about the truth regarding the actions of Gabranth." His face twisted slightly, and Ashe's heart turned in return. "Once that is accomplished, I offer you myself, as your consort and general. As a commoner born of a vanished land, I pose no threat to your rule. But once matters are resolved, my standing in Dalmascan society may be well enough repaired to sit at your back, if not by your side. Would this alternative be pleasing to you?"

In a rush of surprise and anger, Ashe was on her feet, and she felt the color rise to her cheeks. "Why is it that every man I know thinks of me as a problem to be solved or a prize to be won?"

Basch shook his head. "Not every man, Your Majesty. Your ruling council, yes, 'tis true. I will make no arguments there. And Ondore, and the Senate, and to a certain extent also Larsa. Al-Cid may feel the same; I know him not well enough to say. As for myself, I do confess that I weigh the greater interests of Dalmasca in all my calculations, even when my apparent concern must be for the Empire. And yet your own happiness and well-being are bound into the equation. I would not see you used ill, or discontent with your lot. We have too much history for it to be otherwise." He bowed his head. "You are my queen, but if I may be so bold as to say it, you are my friend as well. I do not offer out of ruthless political calculation alone. Consider only this: if you come to a point where you must marry, perhaps a partnership with a friend would be preferable to a union with a stranger."

Ashe sat down and reached out her hand, and Basch sat on the desk, taking it. His hand was strong and warm. "Your kindness is well taken, and deeply appreciated. But you are more than a friend to me, Basch. You are my family. My ninth brother, the one who did not die, the one who is still by my side. I would greet your return to Dalmasca with unmixed joy, but as my husband? I... I do not know. It feels wrong to my mind. But I will think on your words."

"That is all I ask." Basch lowered his eyes for a moment; Ashe saw a quick flash of disappointment, and she wondered if she had misjudged his feelings for her. That hurt, but better for him to know the truth of her heart.

Then the moment passed, and Basch looked back up, his gaze calm and clear. "Now, Balthier. In his case, I suggest that you are wrong. I have known him, and known him well, and I saw his heart today. When he looks at you, he is not looking at the queen, or a throne, or a means to an end. He sees you, my lady. And perhaps he is the only person who does."

Ashe looked away. "And if I see his heart, and know it true, what then? What does that gain me, besides too many nights alone?"

Basch shook his head. "Only you can answer that question. But do think carefully on the answer, before you send him away forever."

"I shall." Ashe stood, rested her hands on the desk. "For now, please leave me. I have much to consider, and a long day before me."

"Of course, my Queen." Basch bowed to her, and then he, too, was gone, leaving Ashe alone in the darkening room, seated at the desk, her thoughts and emotions in turmoil.

-x-

The next day dawned clear and bright, the bells ringing in the morning. The assembly in the throne room looked much as it had yesterday afternoon in terms of the personages gathered there, but the mood was markedly different. Ashe stood in the doorway to her study and examined the crowd and their grim, confused faces. Most were in the same seats they had occupied yesterday: Archadians on the left, Rozarrians on the right, a sea of Dalmascan observers behind. A few Nabradians, as well: Ashe noted Lord Thierry in the row behind Larsa, looking solemn, and a small knot of loyalists behind him.

One more time, she scanned the crowd, looking for the faces that would give her strength. Penelo and Vaan sitting together in the front row of the balcony, anxious, Vaan with his sword at the ready. Basch, below them, standing against the wall by Larsa's row, helm off -- simply because the room was warm, or had he chosen to put an end to the disguise? Al-Cid, seated with his own delegation, facing forward, eyes hidden by his dark glasses. And... but where were they? Ashe frowned; had Balthier broken his-- no, there they were, he and Fran both, striding into the back of the balcony. He looked straight at the stage and their eyes locked together for an instant; then he nodded, and Ashe lifted her chin with a deep breath. She was ready.

Ashe stepped onto the dais and looked out over the crowd. The room had already been quiet, but now the silence was near-total. "Captain Roland!" she called out, letting her voice ring to the corners of the chamber. "Bring out the prisoners."

The heavy door at the back of the room creaked open, and Captain Roland entered behind Rastafan Refa, hands bound behind his back. Roland prodded Refa forward, and he walked down the aisle, head high, staring straight at Ashe with blazing anger in his eyes. Victor Andros stood behind, his stance rather less defiant; his shoulders were slumped, and he kept glancing to his left, as though to catch someone else's eye. Another Dalmascan guard brought up the end of the grim procession, which Ashe could not help but compare to her own proud march up that same strip of floor, not twenty-four hours past. Her hand fell on the hilt of the sword that Roland had found her: a katana, keenly honed, hanging from a belt that Lucie had altered to swing around her shoulder. She would have to find a better long-term solution, but it would do for now.

The prisoners were brought to two large wooden chairs at the foot of the dais. Andros sat without prodding; Refa had to be pushed into his seat, Roland's hand firmly on his shoulder. Ashe settled into her throne, and the men and their jailers looked up at her. "Gentlemen of Nabradia. Rastafan Mallabus Refa. Victor Andros. You stand charged of conspiring to assassinate your sovereign. What say you, Lord Refa?

Refa tossed his head. "How do I plead anything but guilty? When most of the people in this room witnessed the events in question. My only defense is to claim that I had reason, that I believe Nabradia would be best left to its own devices than be corrupted by Rozarrian influences, ever again. And I believe that cause is worth killing for. How many of you in this room have not killed to protect their homeland?" He looked to Andros, not bothering to hide his scorn. "My only denial is that I would ever have conspired with this Rozarrian-loving scum."

Andros's head finally whipped up. "Pardon me for only wanting to ensure our nation's survival! Perhaps a few idealists believe we could stand on our own, trapped between two empires, but some of us are more practical."

"Practical? Starting wars is practical?" Refa's eyes narrowed. "If Nabradia had stayed neutral, we might still be at peace today."

"You blame Rozarria? And not Archades, the nation that attacked us?" Andros gestured out into the room.

The men stared each other down, tension between them rising to fill the room, when it was broken by a rustling in the crowd; every eye moved, and Ashe looked up to see the startling sight of Azlan Margrace, coming to his feet.

"Your Majesty." He bowed. "August personages. I have some information that may help shed some light on this matter."

-x-

"I have some information that may help shed some light on this matter."

Al-Cid did not shrink down in his seat, or recoil in horror, but it was a near thing. Was Azlan really going to reveal this truth, here and now? How would Roderigio react? Never mind the Nabradians in the room -- how might they be provoked by knowing the truth of Rozarria's role in the war that destroyed their homeland?

"Long have we believed that Archadia's attack on Nabudis was provoked, in part, by a desire to root out Rozarrian sympathizers. This was our reasoning for coming into the war: our allies had come under unwarranted fire, and we were bound to protect them." Azlan dropped his eyes and shook his head; outsiders would think his expression rueful, but Al-Cid saw the calculation, the theatricality of it, and the cold fingers around his heart squeezed. "But I have, to my regret, recently learned of a more insidious influence on the part of both the Rozarrian sympathizers and their backers." He lifted a finger to Andros. "That man, Victor Andros, planted the intelligence about Rozarrian supporters in Nabradia in order to goad Archadia into attacking his nation. And he performed this perfidious action on the orders of my brother, Tiesto Margrace!"

The collective gasp from the audience almost drowned out the sound of Tiesto leaping up from his seat, knocking the chair over in his haste, hands balled into fists. He towered over Azlan, leaning down to look at him, face already red with rage. "You accuse me? How dare you accuse me? On what basis?"

Azlan looked back up him, the lines of his face smooth -- most men would show fear at being thus confronted by Tiesto, but Azlan had not so much as broken a sweat. "Confirmed by none other than Victor Andros himself."

Tiesto swung about to look at Andros, whose mouth had fixed open into a gaping position. Then he returned his attention to Azlan; his fingers twitched, and Al-Cid suspected that he was working very hard not to strike his brother. "It is his word against mine. You have no proof."

"No proof?" Roderigio, who had frozen in place, his cheeks gone pale, rose from his seat in slow motion. Tiesto turned around to face him. "This is your response?" He shook his head, ponderously, like a stunned bull on its way to the slaughter. "Tell me now, if you value your life: does Azlan speak the truth?"

"I-- he--" Tiesto snapped his mouth shut, pushing his lips together. "Of course not!"

"And whom am I to believe?" Roderigio looked around Tiesto's shoulder to Azlan. "So, is there proof?"

Azlan looked at Al-Cid; his mouth was instantly dry, but he knew he had to serve as witness, if Tiesto was to pay for his crimes. And yet he was loath to do it. No man would ever trust him with confidential information again.

But then why had he woven himself into the center of every web in Ivalice, if not to bring truth to light in just this kind of situation? Tiesto had overreached, and the balance had to be corrected. Cutting off the internal debate, he came to his feet.

"Andros told me the same, when he thought me to be Tiesto's confederate. He would have had no reason to lie, or inflate the truth. I swear on my life and honor that it is as Azlan has told you." He bowed his head. "I would that it were not."

The murmurings that had faded into shocked silence rose again, but Al-Cid had eyes only for his father. All the blood leached from his face, leaving only wrinkled skin the color of old parchment, and he closed his eyes, weary unto death. When he opened them, it was to look straight at Tiesto, who had not moved. Roderigio let out a baleful sigh, and then stepped away.

"Leave," he said, his voice low and rumbling. "Leave, and never come back. If I see you in Rozarria again, your life is forfeit. Go, and take your confederate with you." With that, he turned his back on Tiesto. Azlan immediately did the same, chin held high.

Tiesto whipped his head down to Al-Cid, murder in his eyes. "I hope you're pleased," he hissed. Al-Cid, alone among the Rozarrian delegation, did not look away from his eldest brother; instead he looked back, as placid as he could manage, and said nothing.

Finally Tiesto turned away, and then he walked away, pushing past Azlan to the aisle. Once he reached it, he stopped, and looked at the Queen.

Ashe still sat in her throne, nearly as pale as Roderigio. Then she nodded. "I concur with the Emperor," she said, her words strong and clear. "Exile for the conspirators. Andros, you may go, but you may not return."

Andros stood, visibly shaken, and walked over to Tiesto. "My lord--"

"Get away from me!" Tiesto shouted the words, stepped back from Andros with a shake of his head. "I want nothing to do with you, or your nation, ever again." With that, he stalked out, Andros a few hesitant steps behind. When they were gone, the muttering began again; Al-Cid let it wash over him as he collapsed back into his seat.

-x-

"Silence!" Ashe held up her arms and looked out over the crowd once again. She spared only a brief glance for Refa, whose expression was insufferably smug; instead, she turned her focus to Thierry, the closest thing to a leader that remained to Nabradia's Rozarrian faction. In contrast to Refa, he looked stunned, nearly as shocked as Roderigio, who looked to be only barely able to remain standing. Thierry was still seated, his palms pressed against his thighs. Ashe caught his eye and bade him to stand with a lift of her chin.

"Your Majesty." Thierry rose, then bowed at the waist, deep enough that his forehead nearly brushed the chair in front of her. "You must believe-- I would never-- I did not know."

Her face and her voice softened. "I do believe you, Lord Thierry. On the strength of your friendship with Lord Rasler, and the trust I know his father laid in yours. But you will understand why I had to ask."

"Of course. Of course!" Thierry turned toward the Rozarrians, shaking his head. "I met with Tiesto, was a party to the treaty of friendship we signed with him, but war? No, I would never have countenanced war."

Refa shook hard enough to rattle his chair against the stone floor. "Phaw! Rozarria-loving filth! How can we trust you?"

"I trust you." The low, mellow voice came from the knot of Nabradian loyalists; yet again every eye turned in an unexpected direction to see Lady Serre Refa step forward, her hands clasped in front of her.

"What?" The whisper came from Refa, almost too soft to hear over the shuffling and muttering that followed her words.

His wife walked not toward him, but to Thierry. "I trust you," she repeated. "Your father the general was a good man, and honorable, and I remember you by his side. You admired him, and loved him; you would never, by knowing action, have risked his life in a needless war." She unclasped her hand and held it out, and Thierry took it; she avoided Refa's eyes. "Enough lives have been lost and destroyed in this conflict. Henceforth, we will work together."

"I heartily agree, my lady." Thierry bowed his head over her hand.

Watching them together, seeing Refa deflate, Ashe was struck by a vision: a path that led to a free Nabradia. Did she dare declare such a thing without the agreement of her council, the Nabradian nobility, Roderigio or Larsa? But then, all of those men had agreed that Nabradia would be hers to rule as she saw fit. If she saw fit not to rule at all, who were they, now, to say yea or nay? With an air of decision, she placed her hands on the arms of the chair and pushed herself into a standing position.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Nabradia," she said, drawing the crowd's attention to her. She stepped forward, walked across the dais and down the three steps to bring herself level with Lady Refa and Lord Thierry. "I have changed my mind regarding my decision to claim the throne of Nabradia. Not because I do not believe I have a right to it; on the contrary, I doubt that any hereditary claim has even a shred of merit to rival mine. But Nabradia has been pulled and tugged at the whims of its neighbors for too long, a position with which Dalmasca is all too familiar. The people of Nabradia should be allowed to chart their own destiny." She raised her shoulders back and stood as tall as she could. "Let a newly-formed Republic of Nabradia be forged, creating a nation to rise anew from the ashes of a conquered monarchy. Lady Refa, Lord Thierry, what say you?"

They exchanged a look, and then Lady Refa nodded. "Nothing would please me more than for it to be as you say."

Ashe let out her breath. "Then let the knowledge go forth, and let me offer my council chambers as a meeting place for the leaders of the new Nabradia to gather and decide how elections will proceed." She inclined her head toward Rastafan Refa, who had collapsed in his seat. "The first charge I lay you is the disposition of this prisoner. Lord Thierry, I deliver him into your hands. Guards!"

Roland stepped forward and untied Refa, then him in hand, hauling the disgraced lord roughly to his feet. It did not take much effort: Refa was a man defeated, the defiance leeched from him, as he shuffled his feet over the stone floor in the direction of the council chambers. Serre Refa and Thierry followed, speaking in low tones, and the rest of the Nabradians made their way in the same direction, some drifting, others striding with newfound purpose. Ashe watched them go, and knew in her heart that she had made the right decision.

Then, before she could question the impulse too closely, she turned to the soldier stationed closest to her on the dais. "I require a brief meeting in my office with two men: Prince Al-Cid Margrace, and the sky pirate Balthier. See that they are brought to the sitting room as soon as possible."

If the guard was startled by this request, he did not show it. "It will be done, my queen," he said bowing with a flourish before he stepped off the dais and into the crowd, walking toward Al-Cid. Then she dismounted the stage herself and went to the front row to lean over Randal Azelas's shoulder.

"I would speak with you now," she said, "regarding an offer for my hand in marriage."

-x-

The last few moments had been some of the most emotionally taxing Al-Cid could remember, nearly on par with the death of his mother. Immediately after Tiesto's departure, Roderigio had visibly deflated, sunk down into his char. It was frightening, to see the Emperor of Rozarria brought so low, and Al-Cid quivered to think of his part in it.

Azlan, meanwhile, looked like a cat enjoying his dinner of canary, practically leaning back in his chair. Al-Cid wanted to slap the smugness off his face, but on the other hand, Azlan had almost certainly assured himself the throne, and Al-Cid had to admit that Azlan would make a better emperor than Tiesto. But he could wish that Tiesto's unmasking had been less public, and for less vile an offense. He looked at Azlan, and wondered how much of this sequence of events his brother had foreseen. And yet, why should it require such devious machinations to take down an unfit ruler? The new Nabradia would never face such a situation -- if they found a ruler corrupt or too power-hungry, they could simply vote him out. "Her Majesty has opened a rather dangerous door," he muttered.

"Indeed," said Ana, and Al-Cid nearly jumped; he had not meant anyone to hear. "We may see other populaces clamoring to elect their leaders, if this experiment goes well."

"It did not save Landis." Azlan turned around to look over his shoulder at them. "But it was a noble impulse, and intelligent as well. Ashe may not rule Nabradia, but she has sealed their alliance with Dalmasca for generations to come, whether the democracy ultimately succeeds or no."

Al-Cid nodded, then started again as a hand fell on his shoulder. He turned around and looked up into the face of a Dalmascan solider. The young man stepped back and bowed politely. "My lord, the queen has requested your presence in her study at your earliest convenience."

"And I suppose my earliest convenience would be now?" Al-Cid stood. "I must first speak with my father."

"Of course." The soldier bowed again. "I will wait to escort you."

Squeezing between the seats, Al-Cid walked to his father's side, then knelt on the floor before him, bowing his head. "My lord."

"My son." Roderigio's hand fell on his shoulder. "I thank you for exposing the truth, difficult as it was for me to hear. It was... necessary."

"Still, I regret the necessity, and my role in causing you pain." Al-Cid looked up; Roderigio looked back, his eyes dark and distant. "I would not desert you at this difficult time, but Her Majesty Queen Ashelia has bid me attend to her. May I take my leave?"

Roderigio's eyes narrowed, a spark of surprise animating his face. "So, you did it. You did not merely seduce her. You offered for her." Al-Cid started backwards in surprise, provoking a faint smile. "I know this because it is what I would have done myself, in your place. You may not be a leader, Cid, but you know how to plan. If she accepts your suit, I will make no objection."

"I thank you." Al-Cid bowed his head yet again, then stood. "Regardless of where I go, you will always have my loyalty."

Roderigio dismissed him with a nod and a wave of his hand, and Al-Cid walked down the row of seats to the center aisle, passing Azlan without looking at him. By the last chair, the soldier stood at attention, and Al-Cid stopped at his side. "I am ready," Al-Cid said.

"Good. If you will both come with me."

"Both?" Al-Cid noticed him then, the man who had been seated at the end of the row, now standing: Balthier.

"Both," Balthier said, with a nod. "It seems Her Majesty wants to speak to us in tandem."

"Ah." Al-Cid looked the pirate over; he was dressed in his usual costume of vest and ruffled blouse, not in the finery one would expect for a coronation, or a trial. What business could Ashe have with the two of them at once? Then, with a shrug, he looked back to the guard. "Lead on, sir."

The guard took them both through the back of the throne room, through a side door and down a hallway until they reached a small parlor, with three large chairs, a sofa, a bowl of fruit on the table. "Please, sirs, make yourselves comfortable. The queen will be with you shortly."

To his surprise, Al-Cid found he was hungry. He hovered over the fruit bowl and selected a peach before taking a seat on the chair nearest to the door that he assumed led to Ashe's study. The view out the window looked over the city: he could see the markets, and the fountain in the central square leading toward Southgate, and the Giza Plains beyond, stretching into the distance. The rains had recently ended, so the grasses of the plains were still green, the waters still receding, the Sunstones starting to pulse with their unusual warm light. A fine view, Al-Cid reflected; with luck, perhaps he would have the opportunity to better learn the land and its moods.

"So." Balthier leaned against the windowsill, tossing an apple in the air, then catching it. "You wish to marry the queen."

"If she will have me." Al-Cid buffed the peach against his shirt, then took a bite. The fruit was fresh, though not as sweet as the varieties grown in Rozarria. "And you?"

Balthier let out a soft snort. "Tell me, from what you know of me -- which I suspect is precious little -- would you call me the marrying kind?"

Al-Cid shrugged. "The prodigal son of House Bunansa, who bolted the responsibility of a Judgeship? Not likely, no. But I did see how you looked at her on the dais, yesterday." Balthier raised an eyebrow, and Al-Cid shook his head. "An eye for details, pirate. Without that, I would be out of a job. Or dead."

"Hmph!" Balthier looked out of the window, setting the apple down on the sill to cross his arms, and said no more. Al-Cid watched Balthier for a moment, then settled back into the chair to finish his fruit.

Just as he reached for a napkin off the table to deposit the pit, the door to the study opened, and Randal Azelas appeared. He stood in the doorway for a moment, filling it, looking at Al-Cid, then Balthier, with a forbidding expression. Whatever compromise Ashe had forced him to accept, he was clearly not happy with it. The loss of Nabradia, the choice of a husband? Al-Cid did not know Azelas well enough to be certain.

Then Azelas stepped out of the way. "She will see you now," was all he said, as he held the door open. Al-Cid went first, walking past Azelas with a nod. Once Balthier was behind, Azelas took his place in the doorway again, looking at Ashe, who was seated behind a heavy oaken desk. She met Azelas's stare with a nod.

"Thank you, Lord Azelas. That will be all."

Azelas bowed. "Your Majesty." Then he closed the door, and the three of them were alone.

-x-

"Please, have a seat." Ashe gestured toward the sofa; Balthier immediately took the seat closest to the door, forcing Al-Cid to walk around the table to sit on the other side. Once they had settled in and were looking back at her, she stood up and walked around the desk to face them. "You are here because you have both made me offers." Al-Cid's head whipped sideways to look at Balthier; Balthier looked back at him with a shrug.

"I implied that I did not offer to marry her." Balthier raised an eyebrow. "'Twas you who then assumed I had made no offer at all."

Al-Cid pursed his lips and said nothing; Ashe looked at him with a small nod. "Both offers were compelling in their own way, but both were equally impossible to accept, as presented. But a few things have come quite clear to me now. First, that I am in need of wise council from a close source." She looked at Al-Cid, then back to Balthier. "Second, despite my efforts otherwise, I am still capable of forming emotional attachments, and when one presents itself, I should not let it go too easily. Love is inconvenient; it is also precious, and must be accepted where it is found." Balthier's eyes widened; she saw him swallow, and nod. She leaned back against her desk, resting on her hands, and lifted her eyes to a spot on the wall above and between the two men's heads. A portrait hung there: the image of her grandfather, the symbol of hundreds of years of tradition. Traditions she had already broken in so many ways, simply by existing -- what was but one more?

Thus fortified, she began to speak again. "Lastly, I remembered a lesson I should never have forgotten: life is fragile." She lowered her eyes. "I have seen every member of my family die -- mother, brothers, father, husband -- and too many friends and enemies. I have run for my life and fought for my life and been on the precipice of death more times than I care to count. But it took being nearly executed in my own throne room, whilst surrounded by guards and guardians, to drive the point home. I am a queen, and as such I have a responsibility to produce at least one heir." She cast her gaze straight on Al-Cid. "Were I to die without issue, Dalmasca would be thrown into the same chaos that has plagued Nabradia. I would not wish that fate on my people." Shaking her head, she stepped forward. "I had preferred to put off this decision, but to do so would be unconscionably irresponsible. Fortunately, with Nabradia's rule settled elsewhere, my circumstances become far less complicated."

Now it was Al-Cid's turn to swallow. "My lady--"

She slid past Al-Cid's legs to stand between and before them. "No one in Nabradia has grounds to make any objection. You assured me that Rozarria is in hand. Is this still true?"

"Yes, my lady." Al-Cid nodded briskly. "I have spoken to my Lord Father, and his blessing is secured."

"Good." Ashe reached forward and took Al-Cid's glasses from his nose, then tucked them in his vest pocket. "I have similarly spoken to Lord Azelas and guaranteed myself his support and that of the council. That leaves only Archadia; though some in the Senate might object to closer ties to Rozarria, I suspect that your friendship with Lord Larsa will grease those particular wheels. Given these truths, I conditionally accept your offer."

Al-Cid's eyes were wide. "What conditions?"

"As we discussed once before, I must secure my status as the leader of this nation before marrying. Not only by the crown on my head, but by the understanding in my people's hearts. Having a husband would make this difficult. A consort, however, is far less of a threat to my authority. No," she added, before he could protest, "I do not fear that you would attempt to exert undue influence over me. But if you have the reduced rank of Prince Consort, the council is less likely to attempt to elevate you."

"You speak a likely truth." Al-Cid looked thoughtful. "For how long?"

"A year, perhaps? Two? No longer. And I would write an assurance of such into any contract."

His expression melted into a smooth smile, and he took her hand in both of his. "It is acceptable."

"I'm not finished." Ashe squeezed his fingers, then pulled away. "My other condition hinges on another offer you made me, on the day I left Ambervale."

"Another offer?" Al-Cid's brow furrowed, then cleared, replaced with understanding as he glanced at Balthier. "Ah."

Only now did Ashe dare to look at Balthier, to see the disappointment on his face washed away with a wave of confusion. "Care to enlighten me?" he drawled, hiding behind nonchalance. "Since I was not a party to your prior conversation."

"Al-Cid informed me that if other attachments were keeping me from accepting his offer, arrangements could be made." Ashe look Balthier's hands now, stroking the backs of his long fingers. "You offered to take me away from this place. You know that I cannot leave, any more than you could stay. But perhaps, from time to time, you could stay. Just as, from time to time, I might go."

Balthier's eyes softened. "To watch the occasional sunset from the deck of the Strahl?"

Ashe nodded. "Just so." Keeping Balthier's fingers enclosed in her right hand, she reached out to Al-Cid with her left. He took it; his smile had twisted in a smirk of amusement. "These are my conditions. Do you accept them?"

"Yes." Balthier stood, and kissed her temple. "I am willing to share, if he is."

Al-Cid's half-smile spread to cover his face. "It is... unconventional, my lady. But fortunately, so am I."

"Good." Ashe drew Al-Cid to a standing position. "I will speak to the council and have the contracts drawn up, for presentation to your father." She kissed him lightly on the lips, then did the same for Balthier. Then she dropped their hands and stepped back. "Come. I have a coronation ceremony to finish. They will be waiting for us."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Arrangements](https://archiveofourown.org/works/157603) by [owlmoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose)




End file.
